My Lady, The Spy

by Barbara Devlin

  “But I do not believe my true vocation has been discovered.” Rebecca propped an elbow on the armrest. “Napoleon’s guards did not come for me until Colin had been killed.”

  “That is a point of fact in our favor.” On another sheet of stationary, Sir Ross began taking notes. “Were you able to ascertain the origin of Colin’s assassins?”

  “Yes, they were French.” Her brow furrowed, and she gazed at Dirk. “I am positive they were from the Denis network.”

  “The Denis network?” Dirk leaned against the back of her chair.

  “They are our French counterparts.” Sir Ross returned the pen to the inkwell and steepled his hands atop the blotter. “Joachim Denis is ruthless and prefers primitive torture to conventional interrogation techniques. He is an animal with a real taste for the bloody business. We have never rescued a member of the Corps alive from his clutches. Consequently, we have no idea what he looks like.”

  Dirk shuddered and pinned Rebecca with his stare. “And this man is after you?”

  “I believe so,” she replied with polite acceptance, as though she had just been invited to tea.

  “Bloody hell.” He smacked a fist to an open palm and looked at Sir Ross. “What are we going to do about this?”

  The head of the Corps reclined in his chair and studied Dirk, then Rebecca, and then Dirk again. “You know, whoever is behind this scheme must have an operative here--in London. And if we are to have any hope of capturing the villain, we shall have to lure him into the open.”

  Dirk crossed his arms and exhaled a sigh of frustration. “And how do you propose to go about it?”

  “The person that identified Colin as a member of the Corps must believe that Rebecca was, in truth, his mistress. Suppose she were to appear in the ballrooms of the ton during the Season. Do you suspect the traitor would attempt to contact her?”

  “You are not suggesting we use her as bait?” Dirk dropped his hands to his hips. “She would be in grave danger. She could be killed.”

  At that moment, the lady in question stood and clutched his elbow. “Dirk, it is all right. I have been a spy these past five years, and I am well aware of the risks. But I am not married and have no children. My parents are dead, and the responsibility of providing an heir lies with my brother, so I have no one else to consider. This is my duty.”

  “Logan, you cannot let her do this--” In that second, Dirk realized that he, not Rebecca, was the object of interest. Sir Ross smiled, and gooseflesh covered Dirk from top to toe. “What are you thinking?”

  “I find your concern for my agent commendable.” The head of the Corps chuckled. “Perhaps I have a solution that will serve both our purposes, but I shall require your full cooperation.”

  Dirk swallowed hard and wondered for what mission he had just volunteered. “I do not follow.”

  With an unholy grin, Sir Ross lowered his chin. “You know, you two make a lovely couple.”

  Were he a woman, Dirk was certain he would swoon.

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “You are a successful nobleman with an impeccable reputation and a sizeable fortune.” Logan sounded like a marriage-minded mama on the hunt for a prospective son-in-law at Almack’s. “What say you? Has any society miss caught your fancy? Made any promises to a bit o’ muslin?”

  “Not yet.” Dirk shifted his weight and tugged at his cravat. “Why do you ask?”

  All trace of amusement vanished as Sir Ross said, “Because I need to know if there is a kitten in your closet that will bare her claws if I send Rebecca on a tour of the ton’s ballrooms on your arm.”

  Dirk opened then closed his mouth. “There is no one.”

  “Sir Ross, you can’t be serious.” Rebecca appeared just as perplexed by the suggestion. “Do you intend for Captain Randolph to court me?”

  “In some respects, yes.” The head of the Corps nodded. “But I only want him to pretend to court you.”

  Her eyes grew wide. “But--he is not an agent of the Corps.”

  “Do not be fooled by the elegant attire and polite decorum, L’araignee.” Sir Ross made additional notations. “Viscount Wainsbrough is no babe in the woods.”

  Rebecca cast him a side-glance, and Dirk mustered a smile.

  She blushed.

  He checked the polish on his boots.

  “Perfect.” Sir Ross pounded the desk. “You have the smitten lovers look down already. We can circulate a rumor and plant an item in the scandal sheets. Lady Wainsbrough and Lady Calvert were old friends.” He stared at Dirk and arched a brow. “Since Rebecca is unmarried, your mother decided to bring her to London for a Season. You will form an attachment, thereby providing an acceptable excuse to remain at her side.”

  Dirk faced Rebecca. In unison, they blinked.

  “Can you manage such a charade?” Sir Ross asked. “Speak now.”

  “Well--” Dirk choked on his words.

  Rebecca clutched his hand. “I suppose--”

  “It is possible--”

  “We could--”

  “Enough!” Sir Ross silenced them with a dismissive wave. “I can see you shall get along famously, because neither of you seem capable of forming a single coherent sentence.”

  “Were my mother and Lady Wainsbrough friends?” Rebecca inquired.

  “Does it matter?” Sir Ross shrugged. “So much time has passed since her death, I daresay no one will remember otherwise.”

  “But, I should think it highly improper for me to reside under the same roof as Viscount Wainsbrough.” The charming spy pressed a palm to her bosom. “Will there be no scandal?”

  “No,” Dirk replied. “My mother will provide a suitable chaperone for the gossipmongers. No one would dare gainsay her or her friends, and her participation will reinforce the image we are attempting to project. Of course, I must enlist her aid and that of my comrades. And I would speak with Admiral Douglas.”

  “I concur.” Sir Ross nodded and returned to his seat. “Admiral Douglas aside, you need to protect Rebecca’s true occupation. Tell them she has been serving in the war effort as an interpreter for Wellington. We have used that front on numerous occasions, and it would explain why a traitor suspects she possesses vital information and thus be in grave danger.”

  “What about my past?” Rebecca asked in a melancholy tone.

  “To what are you referring?” Dirk spied the dark shadows looming in her sad brown eyes and cursed his stupidity.

  With her hands settled in her lap like the finest lady, she inclined her head. “As I mentioned earlier, I acted as Colin’s courtesan while in France. If that aspect of my career becomes common knowledge, my brother and family name would be ruined.”

  “I dare anyone to cast aspersions on your character.” Dirk dropped to a knee before her. “You have my solemn vow that such accuser would meet the end of my sword at dawn.”

  “You would defend my honor?” Rebecca rested a palm on his shoulder. “Truly?”

  Had she so little faith in mankind?

  The urge to protect her, to champion her cause, burned as an unquenchable flame, and he met her questioning stare. “With my life.”

  Her sad eyes brightened. “It would appear that I have a new partner, Dirk Randolph.”

  #

  The Brethren of the Coast gathered for an impromptu meeting at the home of Admiral Mark Douglas. Dirk’s lifetime friends and knights of the Order were in full attendance save one. Blake Elliott, the duke of Rylan, and Damian Seymour, the duke of Weston were there when he arrived. Lance Prescott, the marquess of Raynesford, and Dirk’s younger brother, Dalton, followed shortly thereafter. The noticeable standout was the most recent knight of the Order, Trevor Marshall, earl of Lockwood, and newlywed husband of Blake’s sister, Caroline.

  Whirling in like a waterspout, with a box of cigars tucked under his arm and a smile stretching from ear to ear, Trevor beamed with excitement. “Sorry I am late, but I had to wait for Dr. Handley.”

  As Trevor closed the door, B
lake leapt from his chair. “Dr. Handley? What is it? Is my sister unwell?”

  “I do not think it is bad news, brother.” Damian, the voice of reason, placed a hand on Blake’s shoulder. “Nor do I believe Caroline is sick.”

  “My wife most certainly is not ill.” With a cat that ate the canary expression, Trevor lifted his chin. “She is increasing.”

  “Hear! Hear!”

  “The devil you say.”

  “About bloody well time.”

  “Knew you had it in you, old boy.”

  “A little Lockwood.”

  “I am going to be an uncle.”

  “Caroline and I would be honored by your presence at dinner, this evening.” Trevor doled out cigars. “We want to celebrate the impending arrival of a new member of the Brethren.”

  “An excellent notion, Lockwood.” Admiral Douglas smiled and nodded at Dirk. “And since we have official business that requires our attention, let us save our felicitations for tonight.”

  The mood turned serious, and the Brethren assumed their respective places.

  “Now, to the matter foremost on our agenda,” said the head of the Brethren.

  As Admiral Douglas relayed the information from Sir Ross to the Nautionnier Knights, Dirk studied each face for any signs of doubt. Never had he lied to his family, but the circumstance necessitated desperate measures. He had to put Rebecca’s welfare first.

  “Wait a minute.” Wide-eyed, Lance leaned back in his chair. “You’re going to squire Lady Rebecca about as a love-struck suitor?”

  “Oh, this I have to see,” Dalton said as he held a hand to his belly and burst into laughter. “The poor lass has been saddled with the most boorish lover in the kingdom.”

  “I do not see any cause for such hilarity, brother,” Dirk reproached his younger sibling, whose guffaws only increased. “And I resent your unflattering characterization of my courtship skills.”

  “So Wellington is employing female interpreters?” Damian furrowed his brow. “Strange, I have never heard that before.”

  Blast it all, Dirk could ill afford such pointed questions.

  “Her mother was French, and she is fluent in the language. Also, I understand Rebecca traveled extensively throughout France and is familiar with their customs.” Silently, Dirk prayed he was not visibly perspiring. “I think it highly progressive of Wellington to avail himself of her knowledge and talents without being blinded by her sex.”

  “Unless Wellington finds her sex an added bonus. The man’s reputation precedes him.” Dalton hung on the armrest of his chair and waggled his brows. “Do tell, what does our female compatriot look like?”

  “Her face is fair, she comes from excellent stock, and her deportment and carriage are of the first rate.” Dirk somehow managed not to punch him in the nose.

  “Sure you are not describing the latest bit of horseflesh at Tattersall’s, brother mine?” Dalton said as he repeatedly flipped a coin. “How are her teeth?”

  “You know, any of us could pay court.” Blake poured a brandy and offered it to Dirk. “You have already delivered the lady to London, and we would not want you to feel overburdened. I should be too delighted to donate my services as escort.”

  “Not by a long chalk!” Dirk bit his tongue on a sharp retort.

  Lance winked at Damian.

  Trevor elbowed Blake in the ribs.

  And Dirk realized he had just shown his hand.

  He tried to recover his composure. “I mean...that is to say...Lady Rebecca is a very fine lady. She and I have already been introduced, and she is, at this moment, ensconced in a guestroom in my home. To change things now would only raise undue suspicion.”

  “Of course it would,” Trevor said with unmasked condescension.

  “Well then, I suppose we have covered everything.” With a smirk, Admiral Douglas handed embossed documents to Lance and Dalton. “These are your orders, gentlemen. Due to some recent revelations procured by a member of the Corps, you two are to transport reinforcements and supplies to Wellington’s position commencing tonight.”

  “What about Caroline’s dinner?” Dalton asked.

  “You will be leaving later,” the admiral explained. “As that concludes our business, we are adjourned.”

  In search of a quick escape, Dirk headed for the door, but Damian blocked his exit. “So, where is your new ladylove now?”

  “Shopping,” Dirk said with a roll of his eyes. “With my mother.”

  CHAPTER THREE

  Activity abounded in the merchant district that catered to the cream of London society. Graceful equipages of all makes and models streamed up and down the roadways, and the sidewalks were filled with elegantly dressed gentlemen and women. Like a child at the candy counter, Rebecca peered through the window of a quaint stationary store on Bond Street. Thus far, she had patronized the glovers, the linen drapers, and the milliners.

  “So many treasures.” She sighed and pressed her nose to the glass. “So little time.”

  After meeting with Sir Ross at the Ministry of Defense, Dirk had taken her to see the viscountess Wainsbrough. Lady Elizabeth, his mother, had immediately insisted Rebecca address her informally as Beth.

  “Come along, dear.” The viscountess gave her a gentle nudge. “There is much to be done if we are to get you ready for the start of the Season.”

  Because the gowns she had worn while working in France were still in Paris, she lacked suitable attire to engage in a courtship with Dirk in front of the haut ton. Of course, since she had been posing as a courtesan, her dresses were not what good society would consider appropriate for polite company. So, after a brief visit to Calvert House, during which Beth had declared Rebecca’s old clothes too juvenile for a woman of her status, they embarked on a mission to purchase a new wardrobe.

  Although she had often procured various accouterments in the line of duty, Rebecca had been forced to confine her choices to those deemed de rigueur for a mistress. How she enjoyed buying items that reflected her personal taste and style. And though Sir Ross would no doubt frown on such indulgences, she also acquired scented bath soaps and oils and an expensive bottle of perfume.

  “Rebecca, stop dawdling.” Beth tugged her wrist. “We must get to the hosiery before it closes for lunch.”

  “Did you see the engraved papers?” She bit her lip. “Should I not pick up some cards?”

  “Why do we not use that as our excuse to shop another day?” The viscountess laughed and handed a package to the footman. “Then we might avoid one of my son’s lectures on the merits of economy.”

  “Do you not share Dirk’s...that is, he seems a bit--”

  “The word is cheap, my dear. And I daresay he inherited his frugality from his father.” Beth cast a sly smile as they strolled, arm in arm. “But I have an account of my own, money I stashed away over the years, which I use as I see fit.”

  Rebecca paused. “Really?”

  “Yes.” The viscountess ushered her inside the hosiery. “And if you are to succeed with my son, I suggest you do the same.”

  “But our courtship is temporary,” she whispered.

  “Sweet child.” Beth cupped her chin. “You should let an old woman dream. Now, we must complete your ensemble.”

  Several shops and a few pokes and pulls later, Rebecca found herself tucked inside the Wainsbrough town carriage, which was loaded with a mountain of packages. Her heart was light, and her reticule was not so heavy. When she entered the foyer on the heels of Dirk’s mother, the man foremost on her mind greeted them.

  “Good heavens,” he exclaimed. “Did you buy out the entire stock of women’s finery?”

  “We gave it our best effort,” Beth said as she handed her gloves to the butler.

  “Mama, you are a bad influence--”

  “Do not take that tone with me, Dirk Henry Archibald Randolph.” The viscountess patted his cheek. “Rebecca needed an entire wardrobe, and you did ask for my help. But I am for a nap.”

  He foll
owed his mother and paused at the foot of the grand staircase. “When I requested your assistance, I did not intend for you to bankrupt the viscountcy.”

  “Fear not, my lord.” Rebecca doffed her gloves and stepped forward. “I spent my money, not yours. It would have been inappropriate for you to assume the cost of clothing my body. Do you not agree?”

  Flushing red to his cravat and, she was positive, beyond, Dirk tugged on his collar. “I-I-I...suppose.”

  “Wonderful, we concur.” She drew nigh and lifted her chin. With their noses mere inches apart, Rebecca said, “Now, I think I shall take a long...hot...bath. I bid you a pleasant afternoon, my lord.”

  As she attempted to exit a splendid scene, he caught her wrist. She canted her head, and he arched a brow. Slowly, deliberately, he brought her hand to his lips and brushed a kiss across her bare knuckles. Inhaling a shaky breath, she swallowed her surprise when he turned her palm up and pressed his mouth to her damp flesh. Pulse points blazed to life, and desire shivered over her skin.

  Rebecca feared she might swoon.

  With a devastating smile, Dirk released her.

  “Enjoy your bath.”

  The man was a fast learner.

  She nodded once and traced the path taken by the small army of footmen that had carried her purchases to her guestroom. Upon entering her chambers, she noticed an envelope propped against her vanity mirror.

  “What is this?”

  Rebecca picked up the crisp white stationary bearing her name in very precise script. The viscount’s seal revealed the author, but not the purpose, of the curious correspondence.

  “Why would he write me a letter when we are living under the same roof?” she asked no one as she broke the wax and unfolded the missive.

  My Dearest Lady Rebecca Wentworth,

  Please accept this modest proclamation as my formal statement of intent to pay court to your person. You have my word as a gentleman that I shall endeavor to preserve your virtue during our most noble mission for the Crown. I greatly esteem you and am committed to the success of our joint venture.