by The Spy
“You are capable of a great deal.”
Again bitter laughter rose up at James’s words. She was capable of starving to death in a Cheapside hovel. She was capable of putting herself into a situation that made her survival a matter of limited engagement. She apparently had no power at all, other than the power to flee from the cookpot into the coals.
“A woman’s power is in her flesh. She can twist a man’s mind around until he is her willing plaything.” James’s voice was quite real in her mind. She could even hear the bitter undertone, the cynical rasp that gave an edge of truth to such an outrageous statement.
Phillipa’s hands went to her face, then to her breasts, bound flat as they were. The flesh was there, if hidden. Could she—could she seduce the information out of James Cunnington?
A vengeful, rebellious part of her heart leapt at the idea. Yes. Make him want you. Trick him. Make him pay for making you want him.
Still, a part of her—perhaps the respectable girl she once had been—quailed at the thought. What was she becoming, that she could think of such a thing? Her character was changing, becoming something quite nearly unrecognizable. She’d always been so quiet, so compliant!
How convenient for your parents, the new rebel within her said snidely. They had their grand passion, their abiding romance. And you. You were the perfect daughter, able to adapt to any world, able to nurse and tend and care for them.
Yet what was wrong with that? Mama had needed nursing. Papa had needed tending. And if she had never had so much as a single suitor to call her own, well, what of it? Family came first. She had learned that lesson well.
What about you? When were you to come first? Did anyone ever ask you, even once? What did you need?
A choice, came the answer, almost against her will. I needed a choice.
She shook both voices from her mind. There would have been no point in insisting on a choice. Likely she would have devoted herself to care for Rupert and Isabella, in any case.
Perhaps, someday after Papa had been returned to her and James Cunnington was nothing but an acrid memory, perhaps then she might make a different choice for the remainder of her future.
Perhaps.
For now, she needed to think of a way to discover what James Cunnington knew of the whereabouts of Rupert At-water.
Before either she or her father were Eliminated.
A flash of memory came to her—a file that she hadn’t seen again in the study—and James, entering something from that file into a small leather-bound book.
The book he carried with him wherever he went.
If she were a spy, she wouldn’t leave anything lying about in her study. If she were a spy and she wished to keep some information available, she’d keep notes in something small enough to disappear into a pocket.
Something like a small leather-bound book.
Several hours later, when the night watch called an obscene hour, Phillipa stood outside James Cunnington’s chamber door while desperation warred with trepidation. This had seemed like such a wonderful idea in her room.
She’d never seen the book anywhere but in James’s inner coat pocket. On James himself. But a man changed coats, did he not? And where did a man change his coat?
In his chamber.
Phillipa laid her hand gently on the latch. Part of her mind was chanting, Be unlocked, be unlocked. Another part of her mind was praying, Be locked, be locked. Sneaking into a gentleman’s bedchamber in the middle of the night was definitely on a young lady’s list of “don’ts.” The power of her own training nearly sent Phillipa scampering back to her own room.
After all, perhaps she’d read the note wrong. It had been backwards. She may have misinterpreted it—
The door opened beneath her hand. The panicky little voice in her mind stopped. She was in.
She had a candle, but it was yet unlit. She’d planned to ease a spark from the coals of James’s bedchamber hearth, but then she saw that it wasn’t necessary. His window was thrown wide, letting the cool damp air of night course through the chamber and letting the nearly full moon lay down its brilliance over James’s naked body on the bed.
Phillipa closed her eyes for a moment, then opened them once more.
Oh, merde.
There was a naked god lying sprawled before her, one arm and leg wrapped about the bundled bed-linens as if he were hugging a lover. Naked back, naked limbs, and oh yes, naked buttocks. Gorgeous, muscular, delightfully un-hairy naked buttocks.
What she wouldn’t do to be those bed-linens.
You are here to discover where this foul beast is imprisoning your father.
Perhaps he wasn’t foul. He certainly didn’t look foul at the moment. He looked completely delicious.
He consorts with Lord Treason.
True, and there was no argument that Lord Reardon was rather delicious as well. But James might yet be different. Was different. He laughed, he teased, he protected Robbie—
He lies. He plots. He recommends things like Elimination.
She wanted him to be good. Wouldn’t it be wonderful if he were good?
Then find the book. Prove him out, one way or the other.
Find the book.
She tore her gaze from those divinely sculpted buttocks to focus on the rest of the chamber. His clothing was hung in a large, fine wardrobe, with other things kept in a chest of drawers and a press. She searched them all as well as she was able with her hands trembling with anxiety and her eyes aching in the shadowy darkness of the room’s perimeter.
Only the bed was well lit by the moon. One could almost imagine it as a sign, if one was inclined to believe in signs. A signal that she was not supposed to be creeping about the shadows, but should be rolling around in those bed-linens.
If only he were good.
Finally, she was forced to declare defeat. She’d searched every pocket she could feel in the darkness. She’d even run her hands through his knitted drawers, feeling the heat in her face despite the chill in the room.
Wherever the little notebook was, it wasn’t in this room unless it was under James’s pillow. Phillipa chewed her lip. She’d be a fool to risk it.
She took a step toward the bed. He was sleeping so soundly, doubtless because he’d gone to bed so very late. Late to bed, early to rise. The man seemed to need little sleep. She took another step. The floorboard creaked beneath her stocking foot.
James twitched. Then stretched. Then rolled over, leaving the clump of bed-linens behind.
Oh, merde!
Phillipa snapped her eyes shut and turned to flee the room. At the threshold she stopped. She hadn’t found the book. It was somewhere in this room, she knew it was. But so was a naked man who would be dangerously angry to find the tutor sneaking about his bedchamber, even if said naked man was innocent of any crime.
Retreat. Regroup. Return another day.
Where had those words come from? Ah, yes. Papa’s journal. Abruptly, Phillipa felt the cold certainty of her duty wash over her. This pointless attraction she felt to James Cunnington meant nothing, not when her father’s life was at stake.
Phillipa left James’s room, carefully letting the latch fall back into place. She would retreat and regroup.
Then she would return to ferret out the darkest secrets of this spy.
The next morning, James was partaking of a quick midday meal, impatient to get back to his quest after a tedious morning of tending to the affairs of his estate. All his instructions for the harvest had been sent off by express to Lancashire and James was more than ready to leave the house.
Today his mission was to question a number of landlords and landladies of some of the cheaper boardinghouses in the district where Upkirk had lived. If his instinct that Miss Philomena Atwater would not have settled far afield were accurate, then he ought to be able to track down one spying red-haired woman by evening.
All in all, he couldn’t wait to get started. Atwater’s daughter meant code keys, and code keys meant fin
ally decrypting Lavinia’s letters. With any luck, he’d have Liverpool’s proof in his hands within days.
The door opened and Robbie wandered in, his face cloudy.
James was surprised. “What, lessons over so soon? Where’s Phillip?”
Robbie shrugged. “In his room, I s’pose. He let me go early. Said he was feelin’ a bit low.”
James set down his fork and sat forward in his chair, leaning his elbows on the table. “Low, eh? Well, don’t fret. He told me he got a bit of bad news in the post yesterday. I’m sure he’ll be right and proper by supper.”
Robbie shrugged again. Ah, yes, the universal noncommittal gesture of the young male of the species. James recalled wearing out his own shoulders in his day.
“I am on my way out, I’m afraid.”
Robbie sat in the chair across from James, slumping back against the cushion, obviously deep in the doldrums. James fought back impatience. There was much to be done. “I’ll only be about for a few more minutes.”
Abruptly, Robbie slid to his feet and stood. “Wait here!” He galloped off, rumpling the hall carpet with the force of his exit.
James decided to take advantage of what little peace Robbie’s venture would bring him and picked up his fork once more. Just a few bites, then he’d be through the door and well away. He’d only managed a few swallows before he looked up to see a breathless Robbie before him and the homemade primer at the ready.
“I’m goin’ to read to you!”
James found himself intrigued. “Reading already? But you’ve only had Phillip for five days.”
“I’m a right smart bloke. Miss—ter Walters says so.”
James opened his mouth to put Robbie off once more, but found himself locked in the hopeful gaze of those blue eyes. He shrugged, giving in to the inevitable.
Two chairs were pulled close together in the study and soon Robbie was working his way through the primer.
“B is for Bird.”
James looked down at Robbie skeptically. “How do you know it says ‘bird”! Are you merely looking at the picture?”
The drawing was of a plucked and hung bird hanging upside down from a butcher’s window. Robbie shook his head. “No, honest. It’s a bloody good picture, o’ course.”
“Thank you,” James said dryly.
“But see here? B-I-R-D. I know the letters.” He pondered the page for a moment. “Seems to me B is for Butcher too.”
James was astonished. He was no judge of such things, but that seemed an excellent rate of learning. It seemed Phillip’s instincts about the primer had been quite correct.
Robbie shifted in his chair, obviously uncomfortable in the outsized furniture. James looked about them. “Would you like to sit on that footstool? Then your feet could touch the floor.”
Robbie shrugged. James looked away. Good-God-give-me-patience. He took a deep breath. “Rob, is there somewhere else you might be more comfortable sitting?”
Robbie nodded, not looking at James. “Phillip lets me sit in the same chair with ’im.”
“Oh.” James blinked. “How . . . informal.”
Obviously, Robbie took that for agreement. In a flash of bony knees and elbows, he had wedged himself alongside James in the big chair. He propped the book up on his knees and turned the page.
“C is for Cat on the Coal Bin.”
James sat, listening to Robbie read. The boy’s sticky little body gave out a great deal of heat. Holding a child so close was something that James had had little opportunity to do in his life, and to be entirely honest, little desire to as well.
He shifted in the chair. Robbie snuggled closer in response. As he listened with half his mind, James found himself trying to remember if he’d ever snuggled in a chair with his father. His mother? He had some vague memories of her arm about him while he read something to her. Perhaps snuggling was a mother’s job, then.
But Robbie had no one but James. Not a proper mother, nor even a proper father. Just a houseful of men and one small boy.
He’d thought that adopting Robbie would keep him from the necessity of complicating his life with a wife and children. It had seemed quite obvious and simple at the time. Need an heir? Find a likely boy.
Well, perhaps once Robbie caught up on his education a bit more, he could be sent off to school. Many boys left home to live at school, it was almost national tradition. Then things could go back to normal. Of course, it would be bloody quiet around here.
And James would have to find a new position for Phillip, unless he followed through on his recruitment plans. Actually, the idea pleased James considerably. The young man had become his friend, one that James would be loath to lose. Besides, with Phillip’s potential, there was so much more the fellow could do with that fine mind and that resourceful manner.
Perhaps a few years and several inches of growth would liberate Phillip from his fainthearted ways. James congratulated himself. A capital plan, all around.
Robbie reached the last page. “Z is for Zap. Z-A-P.”
“Very well, then. Off you go.” James moved to stand, leaving Robbie to sink into the large chair alone. He glanced at the clock. There was still time to check in at the club before he began his round of the boardinghouses. He glanced at Robbie as he straightened his waistcoat.
Robbie’s eyes were deep blue pools of anticipation. James blinked. What was the boy waiting for? “Go on, lad. Look Phillip up. I imagine he’s feeling better after a rest.”
Robbie slid to land on his feet on the floor, never taking his waiting gaze from James. Bloody hell, he’d listened to the book, hadn’t he?
The anticipation in the child’s eyes began to fade, replaced—as usual—by disappointment. James felt almost resentful at the feeling of failure that engulfed him. “Good God, lad, give me some clue! What the hell am I supposed to say to you?”
Robbie looked away and shrugged. James passed an impatient hand over his face. “Very well. What does Phillip do after you read?”
“He says, ‘Well done,’ or sometimes, ‘Good lad.’ ”
James let his breath out in a huff of laughter. “Is that all?” He waved a hand at Robbie. “Fine. Well done, Robbie. Good lad.”
Slowly Robbie’s face screwed up into a most appalling expression. “Don’t lie!” He flung the primer to the floor. “Stupid book! I don’t want it. I don’t want to read anymore!”
James felt his jaw drop. “Robbie, what—”
Robbie turned to flee the room. At the door he stopped to send James a scathing look over one skinny shoulder. “It’s a lie if you don’t mean it!” He ducked out, almost barreling into Phillip, who skipped back a step to let the boy pass.
Then the tutor leaned one shoulder on the frame of the open doorway and shook his head at James. “That might have been better done.”
“How? I don’t even know what I did.”
Phillip sighed wearily and entered to plop himself down in one of the chairs. “It isn’t what you did, it’s what you didn’t do, you self-absorbed fool.”
Startled by Phillip’s frankly insulting manner, James took a second look at the younger man. Dark shadows ringed his eyes and his skin had an unhealthy pallor. “Bloody hell, Flip. You look like death.”
“Thank you, I’m sure. At least I’m not a stupendous ass, unlike some people in this room.”
“Ass? Now see here, Phillip—”
Phillip sprang to face him. “Now see here, James! I just watched you crush a little boy’s heart in one careless wave of your hand! I know you haven’t the least idea how to be a father, but that doesn’t give you the right to be cruel!”
“How was I cruel? I didn’t beat him. I didn’t even berate him. All I did was listen to him read the alphabet and tell him to seek you out. Where the hell have you been, by the way?”
“Don’t change the subject, James! You were cruel when you didn’t think to give Robbie the slightest bit of praise. Have you any idea how hard he has worked in the last few days? He’s overc
ome years of ignorance in a matter of hours. And you don’t even know why, do you?”
“So he’s quick-minded. I knew that.”
“Well, he doesn’t know that. And he won’t unless he hears it from you, you colossal idiot! We learn who we are by the praise and criticism of those around us. But not you. You would likely praise a dog before you’d pass a kind word on your own child!”
Phillip’s face had reddened and his green eyes were bright with disdain and anger. “Good lord, James! He’s dying for praise and attention from you, just as you had from your own father!”
“I didn’t.” The words were jerked from James before he realized it.
Phillip stopped in mid-rant. “What did you say?”
James took a step backward and shook his head. “I don’t know why I said that. What nonsense.”
Phillip came closer, peering into James’s face with astonishment. “You really don’t know what I’m talking about, do you?”
James blinked. “Well, I’m assuming you mean for me to pat Robbie on the head and say ‘Good boy’ whenever he performs a trick,” he said bitterly. “Should I feed him a biscuit as well?”
Phillip only stared at him for a moment, then shook his head as if clearing his thoughts. He gestured to one of the two chairs that remained from the reading session. “James, please sit down.”
James sat, without making a snide comment about being invited to sit in his own bloody chairs. Still, a man could only be pushed so far. “Phillip, about your behavior—”
“I’m not done presenting you with my behavior. You may certainly chastise me later, but for now you must listen.” Phillip sat in the other chair and leaned forward intently. “You are a father now, James. You must understand what it is you have taken on. Robbie is not a hound, that you might provide a bowl of food and a bit of training and expect a good result. If you do not give Robbie what he needs—what he has been lacking all the years of his life—if you do not give it to him soon, it will be too late for him. He will be so full of rage and disappointment that I cannot foretell what sad end he will come to.”
James opened his mouth to speak, but Phillip put one hand on his arm. This was startling in itself, for Phillip had never voluntarily touched him before—had in fact shied away. Yet it seemed such a natural, unconscious gesture. The surprise of it made James forget how he’d planned to deny Phillip’s words.