“I’m not surprised. He was a true gentleman.”
They had reached the entrance to the dining room. Most of the guests were already seated inside.
“Take care, Mr. Brass.” She placed a quick kiss on his cheek before entering the dining room and heading for her assigned seat.
Chapter Twenty
Robert had decided to skip luncheon and had sought a quiet place to think. He’d discovered the billiard room vacant and had just finished racking the ivory balls when the door opened and Gareth Ramsey stepped inside.
“What the hell are you doing here?” Robert asked.
Gareth strode forward. “Is that any way to greet a friend?”
His broad, towering frame had intimidated many opponents in the boxing ring and in the courtroom. But the two were good friends and it took more than bulk to intimidate Robert.
Gareth picked up a cue stick and joined him at the billiard table. Robert watched him shoot a ball into a side pocket.
“I find it hard to believe you’ve yearned for my company for the short time I’ve been away. So why are you here?” Robert asked.
“I received an urgent missive from Mr. George Brass requesting a consultation,” Gareth said.
“Brass is recently married to a much younger lady. Don’t tell me he’s seeking your services already?”
“I met with the man earlier. He tells me his young wife is difficult to live with. He realizes a divorce is impossible and seeks an annulment or legal separation.”
A flurry of movement outside the window caught Robert’s eye. A group of women strolled past on the garden path. Sophia was amongst them. Her face was flushed, her eyes a brilliant emerald. She walked arm in arm with Jane, laughing.
“Is the smiling brunette Lady Sophia?”
“It is.”
“Ever since I met her at Lord Cameron’s ball, I’ve been meaning to compliment you. She’s certainly not an eyesore.”
Robert scowled. “I never said she was.”
“Considering your staunch celibacy, I never thought you intended to marry.”
“I don’t, remember?”
“Ah, yes. Wendover ordered the betrothal.”
“That’s right.”
“Even though you’re just following orders, I still have hope that the lady can pull you out of your celibacy,” Gareth taunted.
After years of secrecy, Robert longed to share the truth with him. But where to start? That he had secretly married Gwendolyn? Or that he had accidently murdered his wife and his celibacy was a form of self-punishment.
Robert set his cue stick down on the edge of the billiard table, but before he could speak, Gareth interrupted.
“What do you know about Lady Sophia’s cousin?”
Robert’s brow furrowed at the question, and he looked at Gareth.
But Gareth’s attention was once again riveted out the window, his dark eyes intently studying the women. Robert realized he’d been worrying for naught. Gareth had no interest in questioning him further about his feelings for Sophia. His friend’s thoughts were clearly preoccupied elsewhere.
“Lady Stanwell is a widow,” Robert said. “Her husband shot himself, supposedly over a gaming debt.”
Gareth turned away from the window, his eyes narrowed. “Supposedly?”
“Some believe she drove him to commit suicide.”
“Bollocks.”
“I agree. Society is malicious.” Robert began to line up the ivory balls on the green, felt table. “Why the interest in Jane? You prefer courtesans. She doesn’t strike me as a woman who would dally in a casual affair.”
“You’re wrong about that,” Gareth drawled. “My gut tells me there’s fire beneath her widow’s weeds.”
Robert stared. “You find her a challenge?”
Gareth shrugged. “She’s a beautiful woman.”
Robert chuckled. “Careful, Gareth. Else you just may find yourself caught in the marriage trap.”
Robert laughed at Gareth’s taut expression. Then his thoughts turned and he contemplated telling Gareth about his current mission. The Home Office frowned upon an agent sharing information about an ongoing mission with others, but Wendover also stressed an agent should do what was expedient. Robert was no closer to incriminating Delmont and knew Gareth’s presence could help.
“I’m glad you’re here,” Robert said. “I’d like to make the best of the next few days.”
“I understand Viscount Delmont keeps his guests well entertained.”
“That’s not what I had in mind. I can use your help for the remainder of the week.”
Gareth’s eyebrows rose inquiringly. “You have my interest.”
“Tell me, what do you think about George Brass?
Gareth shrugged. “He’s an old man who made a mistake with his choice of spouse.”
“How about Viscount Delmont?”
“I don’t know him well enough. His wife appears to be a bit peculiar, but warmly welcomed me to stay for the remainder of the house party. Why?”
“The viscount and several of his fellow inventors are up to something,” Robert said.
“Illegal?”
“Yes, but I don’t know in what capacity yet. Wendover suspects Delmont is working for a mastermind who is killing off inventors and selling their inventions for profit. There is evidence of a secret group within the Society. I need you to keep your ears and eyes open for me,” Robert said.
“Does Lady Sophia know?” Gareth asked.
“She suspects. But only three days remain of the house party, and I need to make the most of them.”
Gareth slapped Robert on the back. “You can count on me.”
“There’s something you should know about me,” Robert said. “Daniel already knows.”
Gareth’s mouth quirked with humor. “That magpie knows something I don’t?”
Robert struggled to maintain an even, conciliatory tone. “I know that you believe me uninterested in the fair sex lately, but the truth is I was married to Gwendolyn.”
“You’re jesting?”
“No.”
Gareth’s amusement swiftly faded. “Why not tell me? Why the secrecy?”
“I blame myself for her death.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. She died in a riding accident. You talk like you murdered her.”
If you only knew, Robert thought.
“There’s no need to be secretive,” Gareth said. “If you prefer to keep it quiet, then I’ll never speak of it. As for Delmont, I’ll do what I can to keep watch.”
Robert nodded. “Good. How about we ring for one of the viscount’s countless footmen, request a bottle of his fine whiskey, and discuss strategy?”
…
Late that night, Sophia tossed in bed unable to sleep. The viscountess had kept the women busy during the day with an outdoor walk of the vast grounds followed by games of whist in the drawing room after dinner. Robert had been noticeably absent all evening.
She fluffed her pillow in frustration, trying to find a more comfortable sleeping position, when a scraping sound at the door alerted her.
She sat up bewildered. Her eyes focused in the dim light, and she turned to see Jane in the nearby four-poster. A shaft of moonlight from the window illuminated the bed, and the sheer silk canopy had been pushed aside. Her cousin lay unmoving and for several seconds, Sophia watched her chest rise and fall and listened to her soft snore.
Quietly rising, she went to the door and found a piece of paper that had been slid beneath the crack. She picked up the sheet and tiptoed to the window. Moonlight cast light upon the bold, black script.
Lady Sophia,
Kindly meet me in the conservatory at half past two. I have something of your father’s. He’d want you to have it.
Mr. Brass
She frowned. The nature of the note was mysterious, but the content fascinated her.
She fingered her locket. She’d worn the necklace since she was a child, and she had been surprised to lear
n that Brass had made the delicate piece and engraved the message. Whatever he had, she wanted as a memory of her father. Perhaps it would reveal something about his death.
Yet she wasn’t a fool. Why the mysterious note in the middle of the night? Was he afraid of his wife’s disapproval? She recalled the Brass’s fight and wondered just how strong a hold Emma Brass had on her elderly husband.
She clenched the note in her hand. She had promised to keep Robert appraised of all her actions. Reaching for her wrapper, she quietly opened the door and set off to find him.
…
Robert turned onto his side in bed. He had spent the remainder of the evening with Gareth drinking, playing billiards, and strategizing about the mission. They’d discussed the secret group, Viscount Delmont, and where else Robert could search for clues.
He had avoided talk of Sophia, but he knew Gareth suspected more when it came to his relationship with her. As a shrewd, experienced barrister, Gareth was trained to observe human behavior.
If he wasn’t distracted by Jane, he would have questioned me further. I must be prepared for his inquiry.
Robert shifted onto his back. The manor was silent; all the guests had retired long ago. An owl hooted in a tree close by his window.
He dreamed he was back outside DeForte’s house and waiting for the Comte’s fine carriage. His breath was visible in the frigid December air as he crouched behind the bushes. His spyglass was focused on the front door. The guards had rotated. The Comte’s carriage slowly traveled up the stone drive.
DeForte stepped out, followed by Gwendolyn.
But why was his wife with the traitor?
The question had haunted him for over a year after Gwendolyn’s death until he’d discovered the truth.
The scenes unfolded in a different order as he tossed…
The answer had been in the safe of another Englishman, an assistant to the prime minister. Robert had climbed a trellis and broke a casement lock and lowered himself into the man’s bedroom.
He had found the incriminating documents at the bottom of the safe: a list of names of agents working on behalf of England against Napoleon’s tyranny. Robert’s name was third on the list. Beside each agent’s name their family members were identified in neat block print. Several had been crossed off.
So was Gwendolyn’s.
A suffocating fury encompassed him. His heart pounded with the force of a mallet.
The dream changed…
He was standing in Wendover’s elegantly appointed office, his face set in stone as he handed his superior the list.
“Napoleon’s agents have unearthed ours,” the marquess said. “They sought to hunt you down and torture you until you revealed everything, but you proved elusive. DeForte sent a missive to Gwendolyn saying you were in trouble. They must have planned to use Gwendolyn as bait to lure you into a trap. They didn’t know you had already been assigned to assassinate DeForte and infiltrate his house that fateful day.”
Robert thought of Gwendolyn’s beliefs. He took deep breaths, unclenched his fists, and tried to calm his racing heart.
What would she have wanted? What would she have told me?
The words were the hardest he’d ever voiced out loud. “I want out.”
“Out?” Wendover said incredulously. “I’d think you’d want revenge.”
“DeForte is dead,” Robert said.
“What of the cause? The threat of Napoleon’s invasion of England and the lives of our countrymen?”
“There are others that can fight the fight without me.”
“I understood why you wanted to retire after marrying Gwendolyn, but now that she is gone, I’d have thought you’d want to stay in espionage,” Wendover said.
“You thought wrong.”
“Can I change your mind?”
“No.”
Robert woke with a pounding headache. He was cold, shivering, yet sweat covered his entire body. His bedcovers were twisted about his legs, and he kicked them off. Panting, he cradled his aching head in his hands and sat on the edge of the bed.
He had indeed left espionage, left working for Wendover and the Home Office. He’d returned only when one of his father’s closest friends and his wife had been threatened by a madman.
When Wendover had contacted him, Robert had agreed to take care of the matter. Looking back, he’d known the price: he’d remain working for the Home Office.
The most frightening fact of all, he realized, was that he’d missed it. The theft, lying, cheating, and murder…it was a part of him—a part he needed in order to feel alive, a part as deeply embedded as the marrow in his bones.
Until now.
The throbbing in his temples built in intensity. He was having doubts again—doubts that had nothing to do with his past marriage or the lies he told his friends, but with his growing obsession for Sophia. More and more, she invaded his thoughts. At a time he should be concentrating on the mission, he was thinking of how the cut of her gown emphasized her full breasts and her long legs. How good she smelled…and tasted.
Worse still, how he felt when he was with her.
He was thinking irrationally. The assignment would eventually end—they always did—and he would part ways with Sophia Merrill. She’d call off the betrothal. The scandal would pass, and she’d go on with her life and marry a rich, titled lord and bear him many heirs.
Bloody hell.
He rose and splashed water from a basin onto his face. Cold rivulets ran down his chest and wet his shirtfront. He breathed in deeply and exhaled. Rubbed the back of his head.
It was no use. He felt as if the four walls of his chamber were closing in and the air was stifling. He needed the cold night air to cool his blood and ease the pounding at the base of his skull.
After donning riding boots, he left the room and headed for the stables.
Chapter Twenty-One
Sophia rapped softly on Robert’s door. “Robert?” she whispered as loud as she dared. No response. She rapped again, slightly louder, and waited a full minute. She couldn’t imagine that he was such a sound sleeper. The man was trained to hear a mouse’s steps upon a carpeted floor.
She opened the door cautiously and looked inside.
The coverlet and sheets were on the floor in a twisted heap. Robert was gone.
A quick glance at the mantle clock told her it was already half past two. Dare she wait longer?
No, Mr. Brass might give up and leave, and she desperately wanted to learn what he knew and claim her father’s items.
She moved quickly to an escritoire and scrawled a note for Robert explaining the summons and where she was going. Then she set off for the conservatory.
It was eerily quiet as she crept down the stairs and through the winding hallways holding a single candle to light her way. She came to the conservatory, opened the door, and stepped inside.
It was dim, save for a sliver of moonlight through the parted curtains. The light from her candle illuminated a nearby pianoforte and a Roman bust resting upon a marble pedestal. In the far corner, a group of music stands cast shadows like stalking cats upon the ceiling. She felt a prickle of uneasiness.
“Mr. Brass?”
Silence.
“I received your note. It’s Sophia.”
She walked forward slowly, holding the candlestick in front of her. She tripped over something and caught herself before she stumbled.
A low moan pierced the room. Gooseflesh rose on her arm. “Mr. Brass, is that you?”
Another moan. She lowered the light to see George Brass lying on his back. His eyes were closed and blood trickled down his forehead, soaking the Oriental carpet.
“Mr. Brass!”
Kneeling beside him, she touched his brow. His flesh was cool, his breathing shallow. She spotted it then—the silver figurine of a shepherdess on the carpet beside his head. Without thinking, she picked it up and recoiled at the blood on its base.
“Sweet Lord,” she whispered vehemently.
Just then, she heard voices in the hall.
“Something’s amiss, I tell you. Mr. Brass always retires before me, and I’m concerned. I heard a noise down the hall.”
“Are you certain, Emma? I heard nothing.”
Sophia recognized the first voice as belonging to Emma Brass. The second was the viscountess’s.
Panic rioted within her. She couldn’t be found here. At any moment the women would stumble upon the scene. There was blood on her hands, and she was alone in the middle of the night with an injured man. She hastily wiped her hands on her wrapper and immediately realized she’d made a mistake. Blood smeared the white cotton, making it look like she had savagely attacked Brass.
She stood and hurried to the door, intending to flee to her bedroom and lock herself inside.
The conservatory door swung open, and Robert stood in the doorway.
“I received your note. You shouldn’t have gone,” he said tersely.
She shook so badly she feared her knees would buckle. Her voice wavered. “He’s…he’s been attacked.”
“Who?”
She pointed to the body. “Mr. Brass. He wanted me to meet him here…in the conservatory. He was a friend of my father’s…and he wanted to give me something…something of his.”
“You were set up.”
“By whom?”
“Delmont, no doubt. He wants you disposed of. What better way than to have you arrested for murder?”
She shivered.
He crouched by Mr. Brass and sought his pulse. “He’s alive, but his pulse is weak. Whoever did this left him to die.”
Voices sounded outside, closer now. “We have yet to look in the conservatory. Perhaps he headed there,” the viscountess said.
Anxiety spurted through her. “We’re trapped! There’s no other way back to our rooms than through the corridor.”
Robert strode to the window, broke the casement lock, and thrust it open. On his way back to her, he knocked over the Roman bust.
“What are you doing?”
“Saving you.”
Grasping her hand, he dragged her out of the conservatory to the room directly across the hall.
“Inside. Quick.”
She rushed to obey. He closed the door behind her, and she found herself in the billiard room. Two rectangular billiard tables occupied the center of the room and cue racks were mounted on the walls.
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