Sebastian's Lady Spy

by Sharon Cullen

  It hadn’t been hard to enter Wilcott’s home. The ineffectual locks had been easy to pick, and he’d walked right in.

  Wilcott stirred and groaned. Apparently Gabrielle’s knife wound had not been life-threatening. Pity, that. But it was also a good thing, because Sebastian could interrogate him.

  Sebastian slid out of the shadows. The bed dipped beneath him as he sat on the edge of it. Wilcott came awake with a jerk and another moan, his gaze flitting about the room until it landed on Sebastian.

  “Good morning, Wilcott.”

  Wilcott scrambled to sit up, clutching his side and gritting his teeth. Sebastian held a dagger in his hand but didn’t think he’d have to use it. The man was positively green. And terrified. Interesting, that.

  “How did you get in here?” Wilcott demanded.

  Sebastian smiled and allowed the moon’s glow to glint off the edge of the dagger. Wilcott’s wide eyes locked on the knife. “Did you come here to finish me off?”

  “Would you like me to?”

  Wilcott’s head fell back to rest on the headboard. He stared up at the ceiling and swallowed. “Mayhap,” he said softly.

  Intrigued, Sebastian stifled the questions he wanted to ask, sensing that Wilcott was at the edge of a precipice. He felt the man’s terror and wondered who had put it there.

  “I never meant to hurt her,” Wilcott said.

  “But you did, and now you have me to answer to.”

  His face paled. “I didn’t want to do it.”

  “Then why did you?”

  “I had no choice.”

  “Everyone has a choice.”

  “Not everyone.”

  “Tell me,” Sebastian said.

  Silence hung between them, thick with Wilcott’s fear. Sebastian toyed with the knife, never taking his eyes off him. The man before him now was entirely different than the man he presented to society. He seemed small, lying in the overlarge bed. Diminished. Defeated. Stripped of his puritan clothing and haughty expression. Funny what fear could do to a man.

  “I can’t say,” Wilcott finally managed.

  “Wrong answer.”

  Wilcott looked at Sebastian with a weary expression, as if he’d simply given up. “No. I mean I don’t know.”

  “It’s probably best that you start from the beginning.”

  “I’m not allowed.”

  Sebastian sighed. “The way I see it, you have two choices. Keep your secret and you die by my hand. Tell me your secret and live.”

  Wilcott let out a weak laugh. “Either way I die. If I tell you, he will kill me.”

  Sebastian stilled. “Who?”

  “We weren’t properly introduced, I’m afraid. He never said his name.”

  “Where did you two meet?”

  Wilcott laughed again. “Here. He broke into my house, just like you did.”

  “What did he look like?”

  “He kept to the shadows, but he was taller than average, brownish-red hair. Long, unkempt. He wore no cravat.” There was a note of disgust in that last remark that had Sebastian biting back a smile. “He was thin but muscular.”

  “What did he say?”

  Wilcott swallowed. “The second time he came—”

  “He was here twice?” Sebastian asked sharply.

  “Yes. The first time he told me I was to bring Lady Marciano to him. I, of course, refused. I like Lady Marciano. She’s…nice.”

  Oh, Gabby, you do know how to win them over, don’t you? Sebastian was impressed that she’d enthralled a man like Wilcott, who looked down his nose at nearly everyone.

  “And what did he do when you refused?”

  Wilcott looked away and pressed his lips together. “He threatened me.”

  “How?”

  “He threatened to reveal a secret. Something that would be quite devastating to me and my family.” Wilcott’s expression became mutinous, defensive, yet still frightened.

  “What did he say on his second visit?”

  “He told me when he wanted her and where to take her.”

  “And where was that?”

  “Brunswick Dock. Warehouse number three.”

  Sebastian turned the knife over in his hand, lost in thought. Brunswick Dock was one of many owned by various companies along the Thames. “When?” he asked.

  “Tonight. Well, last night.” Wilcott bounced his head against the headboard several times and groaned. “What is he going to do when I don’t bring her? I’m doomed. Ruined.”

  Just what in the hell was this secret Wilcott guarded so desperately that he had put Gabrielle’s life in danger? Though Sebastian didn’t want to care, he knew that Wilcott was an asset he needed to keep safe. Damn, but that went against his protective instinct toward Gabrielle.

  He stood. “I will put guards on your house, and we will be watching, so don’t think you can get away from us.” He leaned in close. “You will be followed, your every move reported to me.” He wasn’t certain Wilcott was listening, for he stared straight ahead, his eyes wide, unseeing. Sebastian shook the man’s leg. “Wilcott. Listen to me.”

  He turned to Sebastian.

  “I will protect you, but you must cooperate.”

  “What can you do?”

  “You’d be surprised by the resources at my disposal.”

  Wilcott seemed to go to a place deep inside, and Sebastian gave up trying. It wasn’t his concern if Wilcott’s secret was revealed. He would put men on him only because he wanted to catch this man who wanted Gabrielle.

  —

  Grant McFadden watched the man shimmy down the tree he’d climbed to get to the upper floors of Wilcott’s home. Sebastian Addison, Lord Claybrook, climbed trees as well as he danced at the balls he’d been attending with Lady Gabrielle Marciano.

  Claybrook headed around the house and Grant followed, keeping silent and to the shadows. Claybrook walked for a few blocks before hailing a hack. The hack didn’t turn around and head toward Claybrook’s fancy address in St. James, but made its way in the direction of the docks. Which meant Wilcott had told Claybrook that someone wanted Lady Marciano kidnapped. The fool.

  Grant stood at the side of the road and watched the hack take the corner. He’d stay away from the docks for a few days; no doubt Claybrook would put men on the number three warehouse in the hope of catching Grant.

  No worries. Grant knew where Claybrook lived, and more important, he knew where Lady Marciano lived.

  He cursed in his native Gaelic, feeling the net closing in on him. He’d not told the spineless Wilcott his name, but the man could surely describe him, which meant that Claybrook was that much closer to him.

  He’d known when the Italian contessa had been pulled back to England that something was amiss. The crown had gotten wind of France’s plot to invade England and had brought in its best agents.

  Ah, shite, but this was not good. He would have to report this to France.

  He headed toward The Coxswain, where he was billeted for the time being. When he’d been recruited by France, he’d thought it would be easy to find like-minded soldiers willing to fight England. He’d been more than surprised to discover that his brethren would rather move on and forget Culloden and the carnage the Sassenach had inflicted upon their land and their people.

  Grant would never forget. He would fight until there was no fight left in him. He would rather die fighting for his country than stand aside and let them rape the Scottish lasses and set fire to their land and inhabit the homes they’d lived in for centuries.

  His hands curled into fists and he snarled. His anger was bone-deep, eating at him like a fatal disease. He would avenge his country.

  And Aileen.

  Sweet, sweet Aileen, with the sunny smile and the bright blue eyes. Aileen who’d loved him and believed in him. Who’d believed he would defeat the Sassenach and keep her safe. Aileen, who’d promised to be his forever.

  Aileen, who’d been beaten by the Sassenach, then brutally raped until her life was snuffed o
ut.

  Aye. He was doing this for Aileen and his sister, Mairi, and all the other women who weren’t protected by their men because the Sassenach had butchered them.

  His eyes watered and he viciously wiped the wetness away with the back of his hand as he entered The Coxswain by the back door. Gabrielle Marciano and Sebastian Addison needed to be stopped so Grant could complete his mission and join Aileen in the rolling green hills that he pictured as heaven.

  Chapter 14

  When Gabrielle awoke, Sebastian was gone.

  She lay on her back, looking up at the ceiling, fighting the disappointment. What had she expected? That he would stay? He’d left her every other time they were together, whether it was in the middle of a ball or in bed in Venice. That’s what he did, and she shouldn’t be surprised.

  Her arm burned where Wilcott’s pistol ball had cut it open. It was hot and swollen, and she concentrated on that pain instead of the pain inside.

  So what was to become of their mission? Was she to work alone, or would Atwater take her off, as she had asked him the other night?

  She supposed she would be taken off.

  She closed her eyes, but not before the tears welled up and spilled out. She was being ridiculous, feeling this much grief over Sebastian’s absence. After all, she’d told him that nothing could come of their affair.

  She rolled to her good side and buried her head in the pillow to vigorously wipe the tears from her eyes and take control of her wayward and unwanted emotions. She needed to decide where to go from here. Back to Venice? That was her home and the one place where she felt truly safe and secure, but it held too many memories of Sebastian.

  She could go anywhere she wished. Anywhere in the world. She had the funds and could demand some time off.

  Eliza entered and opened the curtains, humming a tune that made Gabrielle’s head pound. She wanted to tell the girl to go away so she could pull the covers over her head and hide from the world. Surely she deserved to hide for one day.

  But that wasn’t who she was. In all her years she’d never pulled the covers over her head to hide. She’d faced her problems and pushed her way through life. Today would be no different.

  She tossed the bedclothes off and left the bed to get ready for whatever the day would bring. Even though her arm burned like the devil and her body ached from her encounter with Wilcott and making love to Sebastian, she would do what needed to be done because there was no one else in her life to do it.

  Oh, stop feeling sorry for yourself, Gabrielle. You’re such a twit.

  Sensing her mistress’s mood, Eliza was surprisingly silent as she helped Gabrielle dress. Gabrielle hissed in a breath at the pain when she pulled her gown up over her arm. Damn, but she was angry at herself for allowing Wilcott to dupe her in such a way. She’d had no inkling that she was walking into danger when they entered the maze. Usually her senses were much better tuned.

  The house was quiet as she made her way down to the dining room. Despite her injuries and the revelations from the night before, she found that she was very hungry and couldn’t remember the last time she’d eaten. They’d missed dinner at the ball.

  She entered the dining room and stopped short.

  Sebastian was sitting at the table, reading her newspaper, as if he belonged there. She had to blink a few times to make sure she was seeing things right.

  “I didn’t expect you to be here,” she said as she forced her legs to move toward the table and sit down.

  His brows knitted over the top of the paper. “Why ever not?”

  She shrugged and looked away, unwilling to let him see how disappointed she was that he had not been there when she awoke.

  He folded the paper and put it beside his plate. “Damn Americans. Mark my word, but they will want to break away from England and become their own entity someday.” He shook his head in disbelief and disgust and sipped his tea. “How is your arm?”

  “Tender, but I will survive.”

  “I imagine you are accustomed to surviving all manner of things.” He cut off a piece of ham and chewed it thoughtfully while watching her.

  To avoid looking at him, she put her napkin in her lap and took a sip of tea that a footman placed before her. She motioned for the footman to leave so that she and Sebastian could converse in private.

  “Does it concern you? My survival both past and present?” she asked.

  He put down his eating utensils and looked at her with what she could only surmise was confusion and surprise. “Yes. Your survival—both past and present—does concern me. I…care about you, Gabrielle.”

  She could tell that his admission disconcerted him. He didn’t know what to do with this “care” that he felt for her, and even though the word was far less than she had wanted to hear, it warmed her heart to know he felt something other than disdain for her. “Thank you, Sebastian.”

  “For what?” He looked genuinely perplexed.

  “For caring.”

  He shook his head and speared another piece of ham.

  She knew she should keep her mouth shut, but she felt compelled to be honest with him. “You do understand that, because of my past, nothing can happen between us.”

  He pierced her with a smoldering look. “Quite a bit has happened between us.”

  Her face heated in a blush. She hadn’t blushed in years. Usually nothing flustered her, but Sebastian’s seductive tone undid her. “That’s not what I meant, and you know it.”

  He reached across the table and placed his hand on hers. “If and when the time comes, we will discuss it.”

  She frowned and wanted to argue, but Sebastian’s determined expression had her biting her tongue.

  “I called upon Wilcott,” he said, pulling his hand away to cut off another piece of ham.

  Her head jerked up. Was that where he had been, then? “And?”

  “And he’s terrified. Someone has visited him twice in regard to you. The last time to tell him to bring you to a warehouse on the dock. I went there, but it was empty and no one was about. I spent most of the morning watching, but no one came or went.”

  “So someone used Wilcott to kidnap me. How strange.”

  “The man is terrified. Said he would be ruined one way or the other. I have no idea what that means, but the blackmailer’s choice of weapon has been effective.”

  Gabrielle knew what it meant. Someone had discovered Wilcott’s secret and was using it against him. “He has a lover,” she said. She had told Wilcott she would not divulge his secret, but these were extraordinary circumstances, and Sebastian had a right to know.

  “A lover? Lots of people have lovers. It’s nothing worth blackmailing someone over.”

  “Wilcott is in love with a bookshop owner over on Oxford Street. A man named Charles.”

  Sebastian paused in the act of taking another bite of ham. “Ah. Well, then. That explains much.”

  “Why would someone want me? Do you think the person we are seeking has become aware of our mission?”

  “That’s what I’m beginning to believe. I have a description from Wilcott of the man who threatened him. Tall, reddish hair, green eyes. Does that sound familiar?”

  “Yes. It sounds like the description we have of Grant McFadden.”

  “My thought as well.” Sebastian put his napkin beside his plate and stood. “I have a meeting with Atwater within the hour.”

  “About our case?”

  “Nothing serious and nothing you need to be present for. You should rest today. Let that arm heal.”

  She pressed her lips together. She thought they’d reached some sort of agreement concerning their partnership days ago, but apparently she’d been wrong. No wonder he hated working with a partner. Partners tended to get in the way when they wanted to be kept informed. “Nevertheless, I feel I should be there. This is my case as well.”

  “No, Gabrielle. Stay here. All I’m doing is updating Atwater. I’ll tell him about Wilcott and have him assign a Scottish operative
to find what he can on the warehouse you were supposed to be taken to.”

  “I have your word that is all you will do?”

  “Of course.” He seemed taken aback that she’d even asked.

  “Very well, then. What is our next step? Are we attending the theater tonight?”

  He shook his head. “I was serious when I said I wanted you to rest. Let’s take a night off. I will return as soon as possible.”

  The conversation didn’t sit well with her, and she realized it was because she didn’t trust Sebastian. Not when it came to this case. He was up to something, but damn if she knew what.

  —

  Sebastian entered Atwater’s home and followed the butler to the office. His anger was tightly controlled, his emotions in check. While watching that damn warehouse, he’d had a lot of time to think, and his thoughts had centered around Gabrielle.

  She claimed she was happy with her life, but he wondered. The Office had made her into something different. Had taken the little girl she’d been and turned her into a lethal weapon. Yes, he understood that her life had been miserable and that she’d been doomed to a future of hunger and poverty or, worse, prostitution and an early death. That was why he didn’t understand his thoughts. He knew he shouldn’t worry about what had happened to Gabrielle fifteen years ago. He should worry about what was happening to Gabrielle now. And he was. But he couldn’t get that little girl out of his head.

  Atwater looked up from his papers and smiled. “Good afternoon, Claybrook.”

  Sebastian strode closer, placed his fists on the desk, and leaned over. “She was twelve years old, damn it. Twelve.”

  Atwater carefully put down his pen and sat back to contemplate Sebastian with a narrow-eyed stare. “And?”

  Sebastian pushed away from the desk to pace across the room because he was afraid that he would unleash all of his anger on Atwater, and that would not be good. He spun around. “What right do you have to pluck a twelve-year-old off the street and press her into service?”

  “First of all, it wasn’t me.”

  Sebastian sliced the air with his hand. “Makes no difference.”