“I most certainly do.” Dirk paused and retraced the evening’s events. “I am tasked with her protection, and I left her alone to trade mindless chitchat with Lady Jersey.”
Rebecca shifted and whispered his name. Dirk froze until she calmed, yet he was anything but calm. Wound tight as a clock spring, he wanted to roar. Every attempt to marshal his temper only compounded his anger and something else. Some powerful emotion he had yet to fully distinguish held him captive as it took up residence deep in his chest, rendering him weak, shaken, and bewildered.
“Who found her?” Dalton inquired in a low voice.
“Lord Varringdale.”
“How did he come upon her?”
“Claims he was in the garden with a friend and unwittingly witnessed the altercation.”
“Unwittingly?”
“He saw two silhouettes and thought it was nothing more than a rendezvous, until one struck the other.”
“Did he get a look at the traitor?”
“No.” Dirk shook his head. “It was too dark, and the villain’s face was obscured in the shadows. Varringdale alerted Sir Ross, and they found Rebecca.” He fixed his gaze on the ceiling and shuddered. Why, oh, why had he always followed the straight and narrow path? “She could have been killed as a direct result of my exacting obeisance of social strictures.”
“Wait a minute, brother. You can’t assume responsibility for someone else’s crime, and Rebecca is a servant of the Crown. She knows the risks involved and has accepted the mission. In any case, she is never going to lure the traitor with you by her side, but there may be a way to provide protection without your physical presence.” Dalton rounded the bed and, with shoulders squared, faced Dirk. “Are you certain you want to marry her?”
“I will have no other,” he responded without hesitation.
“Then we must capture the turncoat if you are to have any future together,” Dalton pointed out. “You cannot spend the rest of your life constantly looking over your shoulder.”
“I don’t care about that.”
“And what of children? You have always wanted a family.” Dalton inclined his head and frowned. “Are you willing to risk your heirs?”
“It does not signify.” Dirk clenched and unclenched his fists. “I can protect what’s mine.”
His younger sibling cast at glance at Rebecca. “What if it signifies to her?”
“Why are you doing this?” Dirk settled his hands on his hips. “Why are you saying these things?”
“Someone has to be the devil’s advocate, because you have the devil in your wake.” Dalton compressed his lips. “Best to consider all the possibilities.”
“Believe me, I’ve thought of everything,” Dirk replied with a heavy sigh.
“All right, then here is my proposal.” Dalton lifted his chin. “Marry her.”
“I intend to.”
“No, brother, I mean marry her--now. Put the full weight of the Brethren behind her. Our extended familial allegiance is well known, and the double-dealer will think twice about bashing her skull when next they meet.”
As much as Dirk hated to admit it, the scamp’s logic was sound. “Do you really believe it would make a difference to a criminal?”
“Think about it, brother. When Trevor stole Caroline from my ship, Blake and Damian cut to the chase, stemmed the tide, and caught him in the middle of the open ocean.” Dalton grinned, his cocky, oh-so-confident grin. “If you were the traitor, would you want us on your tail?”
#
Standing on the doorstep of Calvert House, Dirk handed his card to the butler and was immediately granted an audience. In the dining room, at the head of a long table, sat Lucien Wentworth, Earl of Calvert and Rebecca’s elder brother, dressed in trousers and a black satin robe, his hair still wet from a bath. With a quizzical expression, he waved a welcome.
“Have a seat, Wainsbrough. Have you eaten?”
“I have.” Dirk looked on with amusement. Oh, to be so unencumbered, yet such ease would not be long-lived once he shared the truth of Rebecca’s occupation. “It is a bit late in the morning for breakfast.”
“Ah, well, what can one say?” Lucien smiled with self-satisfied smugness. “I was otherwise engaged last night, if you get my meaning, and returned to find my house filled with Runners.”
Dirk gasped. “Bow Street Runners?”
“Indeed.” The young lieutenant dabbed the corners of his mouth with his napkin. “It appears we’ve had a break-in, though I’ve yet to discern what, if anything, was stolen.”
“Really?” An ominous chill settled in the pit of his stomach, and Dirk shuddered. “Then how do you know you had a break-in?”
“The chamber was a bloody mess.” Lucien took a liberal gulp of coffee. “Even the mattress was turned. Daresay, it will take the servants several days to put everything right.”
Tapping a finger to his chin, and pondering the curious development, Dirk sat back in his chair. Perhaps the incident was nothing more than an unrelated coincidence. “Why would someone go through your bedchamber?”
“Oh, not mine.” Lucien set his napkin on the table and scoffed. “It was Rebecca’s quarters. I suppose the bounder had a sick preoccupation with women’s fashions.” He steepled his hands. “So, tell me, to what do I owe the honor of your company? I presume this has something to do with my sister.”
“It does, and I may be able to make some sense of your break-in.” Dirk took a deep breath and met the young man’s piercing stare. “Have you ever wondered what Rebecca did to busy herself after you joined the Navy?”
In stupefied silence, Lucien listened as Dirk told him of his sister’s chosen profession, her tenure in the Counterintelligence Corps, the events surrounding Colin’s death, and the extent of the threat to her life. Lucien blanched and winced when Dirk detailed their current mission, how the courtship began as a ruse, and part of the plot to catch a traitor, which presented suitable cover for her temporary residence in his home and offered her a modicum of safety. Most difficult to explicate was his now earnest courtship, the previous night’s assault, and Dirk’s intent to wed Rebecca as soon as his petition for a special license was granted.
“My God.” Lucien leaned forward, with both elbows on the table, and cradled his head. “She has never gotten over the death of our parents. But never would I have imagined this.” He looked up; his eyes glistened with tears and determination. “Tell me what I can do to help protect her.”
“I need your support.”
“Wainsbrough, I am at your service.” Lucien offered an outstretched hand, which Dirk accepted with a firm grip. “But I thought you said Rebecca already accepted your proposal. Is my sister being willful?”
“She has agreed to marry me.” Dirk nodded. “But we have discussed a ceremony at the end of the Season, contingent upon capturing the traitor. I am not certain she will be amenable to hasty nuptials, and I am equally unsure of her regard. Perhaps you could provide assistance with the matter.”
For several seconds, Lucien studied Dirk. At long last, he shifted and sighed. “Do you care for my sister?”
It was inevitable that her brother would ask the one question guaranteed to perplex Dirk, and he knew he could not evade the query were he to secure the much-required allegiance. Numerous responses formed in his brain, none of which calmed his nerves or his racing heart. In a flash, his world spun out of control, an annoying affliction that occurred with greater frequency of late. Composing an answer would offer no measure of comfort, so he opted for heavily varnished honesty.
“While I am compelled to wed Rebecca for reasons other than emotion, I will not deny that I hold her in high esteem.”
An uneasy quiet fell upon the room, as Dirk again became the subject of Lucien’s scrutiny. Swallowing the urge to press his suit, Dirk summoned patience that ought to qualify him for sainthood. Mentally, he ticked off various options, one by one, should his scheme fail.
“I will speak to my sister, but I must do so this afternoon.”
Lucien stood. “I sail with the Intrepid on tomorrow’s tide, and we will not return to port for another two weeks, at least.”
After securing a gentleman’s agreement, Dirk left the earl to finish his breakfast, though it appeared Lucien had lost his appetite.
Regaining his curricle, Dirk flicked the reins and headed for his next destination. Like a man preparing for battle, he was gathering his defenses, and there was one more party to enlist in his campaign. One more person to convince his plan was for the best--before facing Rebecca.
As he merged into the lane, he tried not to consider the nagging doubts plaguing his subconscious. He was acting impetuously, rashly even, and such behavior was uncharacteristic for him.
Constancy and preparation were key elements of his persona; they were ingrained in his psyche. Never had he acted without a well thought plan and a reasonable, attainable goal. Given the unpredictable nature of his present mission, Dirk could determine no definitive conclusion. Yet he remained entrenched in the belief that his course was correct.
While he desired control, he desired Rebecca more. The beautiful agent was his, already promised, if only he could keep her alive until they discharged their task. No fear for his own mortality bolstered his motives, because he had faced death numerous times as a knight of the Brethren. Rebecca’s demise he could not comprehend, at all. It was his duty to protect her--by any means necessary.
But would she see it that way?
And if she could, would she be willing to embark on a life that would require her to sever all ties with the dark world of espionage? It was a conversation that had yet to be spoken, but he was fervent in his position. Though he was marrying a spy, he would not allow his viscountess to remain in service to the Crown. Which begged the question: What would he do if the two were inseparable?
#
Sitting in the morning room at Randolph House, Rebecca arched a brow in question and eyed Dirk with unfettered skepticism that visibly increased in epic proportions when he sidestepped to permit Lucien and Sir Ross entry. Setting aside her needlework, she clasped her hands in her lap in a calculated display of feminine deportment that hadn’t fooled him for a minute. Dirk was grateful when she focused on Sir Ross. For his plan to work he needed to remain in her good grace, so he was content to blend into the background, and let his co-conspirators do their worst.
“Why is my brother here?” Her voice was clipped and accusatory.
Sir Ross stood before her, hands on his hips. “After what happened last night, I have determined that he is also at risk.”
“Precisely what does my getting hit on the head have to do with Lucien?” she snapped.
“Sir Ross is referring to the break-in at Calvert House,” Lucien inserted into the conversation. “Specifically, your room was targeted and completely dismantled.”
That brought her swiftly to her feet. “Are you all right?” Grasping her brother by his forearms she looked him over, top to toe. “Did they harm you?”
“Did they harm me?” Lucien took hold of her shoulders, shaking her roughly. “You dare ask if they harmed me? You nearly got your skull cracked, and you’re worried about me?”
“Lucien, please, you don’t understand.” Rebecca half-sobbed.
“Make me understand.” He shook her again, lifting her till her feet barely touched the floor. “You’ve been traipsing the Continent as an operative for His Majesty these last five years, doing God knows what, risking your life time and again, and you have the audacity to ask if I’m all right?”
“I had to do it.” Tears welled in her eyes. “For Mama and Papa.”
As her brother gave her another jolt, Dirk placed his hand on the young man’s shoulder. “Easy, Lucien.”
Just as fast, Sir Ross halted Dirk’s interference. Together, they retreated and let brother and sister work through their differences. And, as such, allowed their strategy to run its intended course.
“Did it ever once occur to you to tell me of your occupation?” Lucien pushed her away as if he’d been scalded. “Christ, Becca, when I think of all those times you saw me cast off, standing there on the docks. Always reminding me to be careful and to come home safe.” His eyes narrowed, and he pinned her with his stare. “You little hypocrite.”
“But I was only thinking of you.” She spread her hands wide in supplication. “I did not want you to worry.”
“You did not want me to worry?” He folded his arms in front of him, adopting a stubborn stance. “What the devil do you presume I do while at sea? Do you believe I simply sail away and forget about you? Sister, you are never far from my thoughts. As it is, I am shipping out tomorrow. How will I ever be able to concentrate on my duties?”
The contretemps played before Dirk as a well-orchestrated affair, but could Lucien deliver the final blow? With each successive point made, her brother wore her down, as evidenced by her quivering chin and ever-slumping shoulders. Confidence in the outcome grew by leaps and bounds, when Dirk noted the first tear fall.
Lowering his head, Lucien gave her his back and sighed audibly. “After everything we have been through, the loss we have endured. How could you, Becca?” he asked in a melancholy tone. “How could you do something so dangerous without confiding in me? How could you risk your life, without even saying goodbye? Have you no care for me? You’re all I have left in the world.”
“Forgive me, please.” With a tentative step, Rebecca hugged her brother from behind and pressed her cheek to his shoulder. “I swear, I will do anything to make it up to you.”
Beyond her view, Lucien met Dirk’s gaze, winked, and smiled a sly smile that gave Dirk gooseflesh. “Anything?”
“Anything, I promise.”
“Perfect!” Lucien whirled around. “I have a solution that will serve us well.” He cupped her chin in his palm. “I understand Lord Wainsbrough has offered for you?” When she nodded her agreement, he continued. “I approve of the match and give you my blessing. As a small request, to soothe my delicate nerves, I urge you to wed with all possible haste, sister.”
Before Rebecca could reply, Lucien made a show of addressing Dirk directly. “Lord Wainsbrough, while I know it is an imposition to ask, and I would not do so were the situation not of the gravest importance, would you consider marrying Becca immediately? I would feel much better knowing she has your protection.”
“Lucien.” Rebecca appeared aghast at his suggestion. “I will not marry Lord Wainsbrough merely to procure a bodyguard.”
“Oh, I say.” With both brows raised, and fighting a wicked grin, Dirk summoned a wide-eyed impersonation of cherubic innocence that never failed to fell his mother. Their scheme was working better than he had hoped. “I had not thought of that, but your idea has merit.”
Completely ignoring Rebecca’s ever-growing protests, Lucien then turned to Sir Ross. “Do you think it would impede her mission in any way?”
“You can’t be serious.” Rebecca elbowed Lucien in the ribs.
Sir Ross averted his stare and pretended to give the matter due consideration. “No, I don’t think it would frustrate our villain in the least. After last night, I would venture to guess he is growing more impatient and desperate by the hour. In fact, this might just provide the impetus needed to motivate the blackguard.”
“Sir Ross, please,” Rebecca pleaded. “Surely you cannot agree with this insanity.”
“Actually, your brother makes a valid point, Rebecca.” Tapping a finger to his lower lip, Sir Ross paced with the grace of a jungle cat. “There have been two attempts on your life, your home has been burgled, and we have every reason to believe these crimes are connected. Perhaps when his efforts to dispose of you proved unsuccessful, the traitor chose to invade your dwelling, which put your brother at risk. In any case, as Viscountess Wainsbrough you would have a formidable defense.
“Our villain lives in the shadows, using anonymity as a shield. Killing the wife of a peer would instigate a search for a murderer such as London has rarely seen. It
would be lunacy. Whoever we’re dealing with would be aware of that fact. Thus your nuptials would work to your safety and our advantage.”
Wringing her fingers, she gazed at the floor. “All right. I--”
“Wonderful!” Lucien beamed at his sister. “You can be married as soon as Lord Wainsbrough secures a special license.” As Rebecca opened her mouth to speak, he added, “Oh, Becca, my spirits are much improved. Now I can sail content in the knowledge that you are secure.”
“Lucien, wait--”
“You accepted him.”
“I did.”
“You said anything.”
“Yes, I did.”
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
It was late in the afternoon when Hughes informed Dirk that he had been summoned to his study. His initial response was intense irritation. No one, not even his mother, dared commandeer his domain, which left only one person currently residing beneath his roof with gumption sufficient to execute such brazen stratagem; and that possibility gave him pause to reflect.
Under normal circumstances, he might be angry at having his authority so audaciously usurped; yet he could muster no ire. When he found Rebecca, wringing her hands, muttering incoherently, and pacing before the window, he could only smile. The spy with sad eyes was overset, and he decided he liked her overset.
With nary a sound, he closed the door and leaned against it. “You sent for me, love?”
With a start, she whirled around. “My lord, I would have a word.”
“My lady, I would have more.”
In a mere handful of strides he closed the distance between them. Rebecca took two steps back--to no avail. He hauled her into his arms and ravaged her luscious lips. Struggling and squirming in his grasp, she pulled her mouth from his, so he gave his attention to the sensitive crest of her ear, tracing the delicate arc with his tongue and nibbling playfully on the fleshy lobe.
“Dirk, you must stop,” she said breathlessly. “I can’t think.”
“Then don’t think,” he murmured against her temple. “Just kiss me.”
She acted as he bade, and memories of last night besieged his senses. Fearing for her safety, and unwilling to leave her side, Dirk had climbed into her bed in the wee hours of the morning, with no licentious intentions. But his agent provocateur had intentions of her own.
My Lady, The Spy Page 17