“Thank you,” she managed to whisper as he took her hand and led her off the floor.
“You are more than welcome,” he replied, releasing her fingers as soon as they cleared the area. A trace of confusion shadowed his eyes. He retrieved his cane from the plant, and after clearing his throat, stood awkwardly at her side. “Do you see Lord Basselton?”
“No.” She scanned the area, but with the crush of people, it was impossible to spot just one person. Neither did she catch a glimpse of the emerald silk gown of his partner. When she turned back around, she sucked in a breath as a man hulked behind him. “Jonathan…”
“How interesting to find a fellow Englishman here, in the midst of such a gay event, and one to which you were most certainly not invited.”
The viscount spun about, positioning himself between her and the new arrival. “I’m sorry. I don’t have the pleasure—”
“—Mr. Hatfield. I hail from Surrey, and am Lord Basselton’s man-of-affairs. And you are the Viscount Trewellain.” The deep voice rumbled, reverberated in the air around them. The red-haired man flicked his gaze past Jonathan to her. “I do not know your name, but find it more interesting still that the viscount has found an English rose in the middle of Madrid society.”
She didn’t offer details and neither did Jonathan. Instead, the viscount narrowed his eyes. “Why are you here?”
“Why are you?” the man countered.
Jonathan tightened his fingers upon the head of his cane. “I’m told that Lord Basselton is in attendance tonight. I need to meet with him. There has been some concern in London that he’s gone missing.”
An amused chuckle escaped Mr. Hatfield. “Missing, no. He is quite well.” He laughed again as if their presence there was hilarious. “I’m afraid a meeting between you won’t be possible.” The other man crossed his arms at his barrel of a chest. “Lord Basselton is even now closeted with a man much higher on the instep than you could ever hope to be.”
“Does he intend to trade the stolen Spanish crown jewels for information tonight?” Jonathan asked.
“Ah, then you know what my employer is about?” His eyes reflected surprise and pleasure. “However, that is not for me to say, but in the event you have brought the Cross of Salamanca, then perhaps it would gain you access to such a meeting.” He cocked an eyebrow. “Did you?”
Sophia gasped. Did he refer to the relic they’d found in the Madrid Library?
A muscle twitched in Jonathan’s jaw, and she laid a palm on his back, hoping to calm him. “I returned that cross to a representative at the Royal Palace. It belongs to them and is part of what Lord Basselton stole.”
“Ah, such stupid and unnecessary honesty.” Mr. Hatfield snorted.
“Where are the rest of the crown jewels?” Jonathan demanded.
Mr. Hatfield ignored the question. “Once the meeting with Lord Basselton is over,” he continued as if Jonathan hadn’t spoken, “he will be on his way to Barcelona.”
“Why?” A growl propelled the word.
The other man shrugged. “Who can say? Perhaps he wishes to take in the ocean air, or perhaps he is after bigger game… or to make use of the stunning library at the university. None of it is your concern.” He lowered his voice even as the next dance set began. “I would caution you to return to England. There is nothing in Spain for you.”
“I’ll be the judge of that.” He pressed the tip of his cane into the other man’s chest, and shoved. His rival didn’t budge. “Why, I wonder, did you seek me out merely to threaten me, unless it’s to throw me off Basselton’s trail?”
Or make certain we stay on it. Sophia frowned. Was this what Jonathan came against with every mission? Deciding what to do must prove a nightmare at times.
“Who can say, Lord Trewellain? Perhaps you should have traveled to Barcelona to begin with, since the real object of your mission is rumored to be found there.” He guided the cane’s tip downward, and with a smile that had nothing to do with mirth, stepped away. “Happy hunting. Perhaps you’ll find the treasure before we do. It will all depend on intelligence and endurance. I’m sure our paths will cross again.” He chuckled. “No doubt the relic we both seek will end up in the hands that fate decrees. You and I are, after all, merely pawns in other men’s games.” The contact easily melded into the crowd.
The relic? He has to mean this mysterious chalice, but what did the pawn comment refer to? Sophia gripped his arm when Jonathan would have gone after Mr. Hatfield. “Not here. Not now,” she warned in a low voice. “This is not the time for such a fight, especially when he is only taunting you to do exactly that. You are better than him.”
His arm stiffened beneath her fingers. “Damnation, Sophia.” He turned and agitation was clearly splashed over his face. “We have to find Basselton. Tonight. No matter that I was just threatened.”
“Then let’s go find him.” She slipped her hand around his bicep and he begrudgingly crooked his elbow. “Surely it cannot be that difficult to locate an English lord here.”
The corner of his mouth lifted in a slight smile. “Your enthusiasm is refreshing.” No sooner had he led her from the ballroom and into a connecting corridor than they were beset by a pair of somber, Spanish gentlemen clad all in black. “We would like to pass, if you please,” Jonathan urged, taking a step forward.
“I am afraid that will not be possible,” one of the men said while holding up a hand. “We are to escort you and your lady from the premises.”
Sophia gasped. “On what charge?” This was beyond ridiculous. They had done nothing wrong… except insert themselves into the event illegally.
The second man rolled his eyes. “It does not matter, but we have our orders.” He peered first at her then at Jonathan. “It would seem the two of you were not on the guest list, and are a security risk.”
“Please, do not cause a stir, as such a thing would upset Conde Mayorga as you have already done to his daughter with your overt interest.” The first man gestured for them to follow him.
A trace of fear wound up Sophia’s spine. Was the conde’s daughter truly implicit in this, or was she being manipulated by Lord Basselton? Dear Lord, perhaps she was merely serving as a distraction, the same as Mr. Hatfield. She shivered at the implications. I had no idea this sort of intrigue existed. But it must if her companion was a king’s agent. Why did Jonathan willingly put himself in such positions when he was threatened if he came too close to unmasking a man doing wrong? Her respect for him rose a notch.
“Fine, but do be advised that England’s king will hear about our treatment here. No doubt he will take a closer look at relations between Britain and Spain.” Low-grade anger underscored the viscount’s voice. He took her arm and propelled her after the first man while the second brought up the rear of their party.
After a few twists of hallways, they reached the grand entry hall, where a butler waited with their outer garments. In silence, she and Jonathan donned them and were once more escorted until they cleared the doors.
“We have had your carriage brought around. Have a pleasant evening,” the first man said as the door was firmly closed behind them.
Jonathan cursed. He pulled her along the pavement and waved away assistance from the driver, handing her into the carriage himself. Once he threw himself inside, he alighted on the bench beside her. “That didn’t net the results I’d hoped.”
“But we did glean you are making Lord Basselton uncomfortable enough to pay for favors.” Sophia shrugged. “And, I conquered my fear of dancing in public. Also, you’ve more or less confirmed that this intriguing chalice you won’t tell me about is indeed in play and very much sought after by many parties.”
He grunted. “True.” Silence reigned in the carriage for long moments. Then he turned toward her, his eyes glittering. “At least I can do something I’ve wanted since the dance floor.”
“Which is?” She could barely force out the words from a tight throat. Her heartbeat kicked into a frantic rhythm as he cupped her cheek. He�
��s going to kiss me!
“This.” Jonathan pressed his lips to hers. In the darkness of the vehicle’s interior, he stared at her, searching her eyes, but for what? If it was permission to continue, she hadn’t slapped him, so that was the same, wasn’t it? He didn’t move. Neither did she, and finally he pulled slightly back.
As kisses went, it was highly unsatisfying. Sophia frowned. “That’s it? That’s the best a confirmed rogue can do?”
“The hell you say,” he muttered with a scowl.
“I do.” She blew out a frustrated breath as disappointment cooled her spine. “I believe you can do better, Lord Trewellain.” So saying, she grabbed his lapels and tugged him close, fitting her lips to his.
This time, her eyes drifted closed and he framed her head between his large hands. He moved his mouth over hers, gently exploring, acquainting himself with her lips. Sophia sighed, but she didn’t relinquish her hold on his jacket. She pushed herself closer in an effort to know him more intimately. The warmth he imparted sent pinwheels into her belly. Tremors of need throbbed between her thighs, like she’d experienced when he’d sent her flying with his fingers.
But being kissed by him was a different beast altogether. She mimicked his movements, and when she dared to run the tip of her tongue over his lower lip and the sweetness of the champagne came away on her palate, he groaned, and she smiled against his mouth. Such power a kiss contained. Desiring more, she slightly parted her lips hoping to entice him to deepen the embrace, but he broke away and pulled back. Went so far as to stumble to the bench opposite hers as if she’d suddenly contracted the plague.
Damn and blast. Perhaps he didn’t appreciate her boldness. “Jonathan, I—”
“Do not, for the love of God, thank me for kissing you, as you’ve done for everything else,” he bit out, once more the surly lord, pulling the invisible shroud around him again. “It was something that happened. Nothing more.”
Mayhap to him such a kiss was pedestrian, but to her, as her nerve endings tingled and butterflies still danced in her belly, it was everything a first kiss should be. Yes, she’d managed to reach the ripe age of nine and twenty—almost thirty—without ever having been kissed. She turned her face to the window and allowed a small smile.
No matter his changing moods, she would always remember this night, and it would fuel her dreams in the years to come after he released her from his promise.
Why, then, did knowing that day came closer and closer bring a knot of dread to her stomach instead of the excitement and hope she’d held in her heart these last years?
Chapter Eleven
The next morning after breakfast, Jonathan sat alone in the parlor while waiting—yet again—for Sophia to finish dressing.
What the bloody hell is taking so long? They needed to be on their way, and soon. Damn Basselton already had a half day’s head start on them, assuming he departed directly from the ball last night.
And why wouldn’t he? The man wasn’t responsible for keeping a woman safe and out of trouble.
A woman who’d tempted him beyond reason last night.
A woman who he’d kissed.
He shifted on the settee and thumped his cane on the floor as if he were a man of ninety instead six and thirty. That kiss hadn’t needed to happen, but she was so deuced beautiful, and after that bloody waltz, which had been more of a prelude to bed sport… A growl escaped him. The dance where they’d shared more than a set. Once she’d ceased to think about the steps, they’d flowed together as if by magic.
Because of that, he’d forgotten himself enough to start caring. He’d nearly disregarded his mission when he’d been with her and had wanted to whisk her into an unoccupied room to further his acquaintance with the blonde—his fiancée.
She’s not for me.
As if he needed the reminder. He was well aware of their unsuitability. His life was lived for the Crown in constant danger, not for domestic rustication.
Jonathan thumped his came again as another swath of annoyance rolled over him. After the kiss, Sophia acted like it had never happened. She’d not uttered a word, either in praise or protest. Was she immune to him then? Quite a change to how she’d reacted to him that first night aboard ship when he’d transgressed over her body without a by-your-leave, and she’d hit release with—
Enough!
That was exactly why he shouldn’t involve himself in her life any more than he’d already done. He’d taken advantage, ruined her chances for a future match regardless if their time together now remained a secret. And if a man had to make a cake of himself merely to have a woman notice him—
“Ah, I thought I’d find you in here,” Philip said with a jaunty grin as he entered the parlor. “And from the look on your face, I’d say you’re working yourself into a brown study.”
“Merely anxious to be on my way.” What did he know of it anyway?
“Most certainly. I’m sure it’s that.” When the man sat in a chair near Jonathan’s location, he wore a knowing expression, which further deepened his annoyance. “For it couldn’t be the fact you were gobsmacked by your lovely companion last evening.”
“She was a pretty part of the mission, nothing more,” he ground out from around clenched teeth. He didn’t owe this man or anyone an explanation. “There are always women about. She is no different.”
“Ah, perhaps, but she’s a pretty bit who returned with stars in her eyes and a smile on enchanting lips,” Philip rejoined with a grin that had Jonathan clenching a fist. “Maria told me your companion was humming as she bathed this morning. Sounds as if the two of you had a favorable time last evening.”
“What difference does it make if she’s humming? Perhaps she is thinking of her return to England.” Jonathan launched to his feet in favor of pacing. He rambled on, desperate to change the subject but not entirely. “Sophia is a naturally happy person with a positive outlook.” Which made her vastly unsuited for his life. He often dealt in death and the more rotten side of existence throughout the ton. Intrigue, cheating and the black souls of people weren’t what she naturally gravitated toward. And he wasn’t the most pleasant man to invite to tea. Prickles weren’t exactly what society dressed itself in.
“I see.” But the twinkle didn’t leave the retired agent’s eyes. “Just what are you and the effervescent Miss Wickham going to do after you were taunted with such impunity last night?”
Upon returning to the house and finding Philip in the study reading, Jonathan had recounted his evening. “No choice but to travel to Barcelona.” He rubbed his free hand along his jaw. “I’d like to hope we can ascertain the location of the chalice before Basselton does, damn his eyes.” Though, the man must have some sort of intimate knowledge if he already knew where he was going. “I suppose, had I been thinking clearly, I should have made it a point to follow the lord last night, but—”
“—but you were consumed with other, more delicate matters,” his companion finished for him.
“You could put it that way,” Jonathan begrudgingly conceded. Delicate, charming, tempting matters that possessed enough curves to cause even the most prudent man to sin.
“Ah ,Trewellain, the path you trod is both exciting and fraught with obstacles.” Philip shook his head, but some of the teasing light had faded from his eyes. “You think the chalice actually exists?”
“Who can say? Or worse yet, who can say if there’s not more than one?” He heaved a sigh. “From my understanding, in Spain alone, there are three such relics. Are they all the vessel of Christ, the one He actually used during the Last Supper? Hard to tell. Could they all have been used in ancient times by men around that time in the places where the Messiah trod? The possibility is higher in that regard, for if Christ and His Apostles dined together, there would, by logic, be more than a few vessels, for all the men must drink. I guess we won’t know for certain until we locate one of the cups and have it examined by a professional, and even then, who knows.” Doubt crept in, cool and exacting, to
coil through his gut. What would Miles do in such a situation?
Philip nodded. “It’s a risk and likely a fool’s errand. Especially if Basselton is after the Holy Grail specifically.”
“That is my thought as well.” And I’m dragging Sophia right along with me into potential danger. The only saving grace was that, given the same opportunity, Archewyne would continue on with the mission. Because that’s what king’s agents did. Period. “Lord help us all if he’s truly found the fabled Grail.” It wasn’t outside the realm of possibility, for hadn’t Archewyne discovered some sort of crown that held magical powers?
“The best advice I can offer?” The other man leaned forward as he held Jonathan’s gaze. “Be mindful of where you are and who is around you. Yes, you travel with a distraction, and I suppose that cannot be helped… unless you’d like to leave Sophia with me and Maria?”
Here was the opportunity he needed, and now that such an invitation had been presented, the thought of accepting left him feeling more confused than before. Slowly, he shook his head. “No. I’d rather she accompany me. If nothing else, I’ve become acclimated to her personality, and she’s an asset with research. She’s quite intelligent in matters where I lack knowledge.” He couldn’t imagine the upcoming carriage trip without her constant stream of chatter. How had he ever thought silence better than female conversation? Bah! She is muddling my brain like a sickness.
“I thought that perhaps you would answer thusly,” Philip said in a quiet voice. “Do be careful. As the world grows smaller due to increased travel, and men with power look to exploit the riches and treasures the world hides, men like us are needed in increasing numbers. But we are only men and not immortal.”
A chuckle escaped Jonathan. “You tell me not to deliberately antagonize people for fear of being shot.”
“Among other things. I have heard of some of your adventures.” Philip joined in the laughter, and then he glanced at the doorway. “Ah, the ladies join us.” He rose smoothly to his feet as Maria and Sophia swept into the room. “I assume the luggage is packed?”
What the Stubborn Viscount Desires Page 12