Seconds later earsplitting screams sounded across the hall.
“We’ll look guilty!” she said.
“No, we won’t.”
Stepping close, he spun her around and tugged her arms from the bloody wrapper. He wadded it in a ball and shoved it under the settee. Loosening his cravat, he shrugged out of his jacket and then tore the bodice of her nightgown, rending the delicate fabric from her neck to the tops of her breasts.
“Act passionate,” he commanded.
He pulled her into his arms and scraped the stubble on his chin across the exposed swell of her breasts above her bodice. Bending her backward over a billiard table, he stepped between her legs and jerked her nightgown up to her thighs.
The door was thrown open.
A high-pitched female voice pierced the air. “What in the world!”
Robert straightened; Sophia remained trapped between his hard thighs.
He cleared his throat. “My lady, we were just—”
“I see what you are doing.” The viscountess’s voice was shrill. “Mr. Brass has been attacked across the hall in the conservatory.”
His brow furrowed. “Attacked?”
“Did you two see anything?” Vivian asked.
“I’m afraid we were occupied.”
He took a step back; Sophia straightened and clutched her torn bodice to her breasts. She did not have to feign the blush that stained her cheeks.
Emma Brass continued shrieking across the hall, and within minutes the entire household came running. One by one the doorway of the billiard room became crowded. Men and women in dressing gowns and wrappers hovered in the hall.
Viscount Delmont pushed his way through the crowd. “Mr. Brass took a nasty hit to the head. And you two saw and heard nothing?”
Robert stepped in front of Sophia. “Nothing.”
“No wonder. It appears they couldn’t wait for the altar,” Lady Falk drawled, censure dripping from her voice. She shot Jane a cold look. “Your services as chaperone are clearly lacking, Lady Stanwell.”
Jane appeared in the doorway. She frowned, obviously confused by it all.
Delmont looked from Robert to Sophia, and she felt impaled by his dark gaze. “Summon the constable along with the surgeon!” he commanded the closest servant as he strode out of the room.
Chapter Twenty-Two
The surgeon was first to arrive. Mr. Brass was carried upstairs by two footmen and a weeping Emma Brass trailed behind them. A half hour later, the constable knocked on the front door.
The guests gathered in the drawing room at the constable’s request. Sophia had changed into a demure dress of blue alpaca and sat on a sofa with her hands folded in her lap. Jane sat stiffly beside her, the tension between them thick.
Robert and his friend, Mr. Gareth Ramsey, who Sophia learned had arrived yesterday, stood beside the mantle.
She studied Robert beneath lowered lashes. He appeared as strong and steady as the stone hearth. He had handled the situation with cunning and efficiency—a testament to his experience—and if her reputation was ruined tonight, then such an outcome was much more desirable than going to prison.
The constable, a freshly minted recruit in his early twenties, carried himself with a cocky air of self-importance. He held a small pad and pencil.
“I’m Constable Miller and I am handling this investigation. I inspected the scene of the crime in the conservatory and it appears that Mr. Brass was struck over the head with this,” he said, holding up the silver figurine.
The blood had not been wiped off, and she felt queasy at the sight.
“The casement lock was broken and the window open. Also, a Roman bust was toppled. The evidence leads me to believe Mr. Brass walked in on a burglar.”
Viscount Delmont’s eyes flashed imperiously. “You believe it was a common burglary?”
“I do. The criminal must have attacked Mr. Brass in order to escape.”
The women gasped.
The constable shut his pad. “I’m satisfied it was a common burglar and Mr. Brass was an unfortunate victim.” He put his hat on.
The viscount came forward. “I suggest everyone retire for the night. I’ll escort the constable out.”
The guests shuffled out as a dazed group. Gareth and Jane stayed behind with Robert and Sophia.
Once alone, Jane turned on Robert. “What happened tonight? And don’t bother with the same story you just told the constable,” she whispered vehemently.
Gareth spoke first. “Not here. The walls have ears.”
Jane glared at Gareth. “What do you know about this, Mr. Ramsey?”
“Gareth is privy to anything I say,” Robert said. “I suggest we go upstairs.”
They proceeded to escort Sophia and Jane to their bedchamber.
Once at their door, Robert glanced both ways to ensure they weren’t being observed, and then the men followed the women into the room and shut the door.
Jane’s expression was tight with strain as she stared at Robert. “Who are you, Lord Kirkland?”
Robert’s expression was grave. “I work for the Home Office. I’ve been investigating a series of murders of members of the Inventors’ Society. A secret group within the Society is suspected of selling inventions of a military nature to foreign militias for profit.”
“You’re a spy?” Jane asked incredulously.
“Yes,” Robert admitted.
Sophia was shocked. She’d thought he would fabricate a story, not reveal his true role.
“And Sophia knows this about you?”
“We’ve been working together,” Sophia said quietly.
Raw hurt glittered in Jane’s brown eyes. “How could you not tell me?”
“I didn’t want to put you in any danger,” Sophia said.
“Is your courtship a sham as well?” Jane asked.
“We were to break off the betrothal after the house party.”
“If you’re still able,” Gareth drawled.
Jane shot Gareth a withering glance before returning her attention to Sophia. “He said the Home Office was looking into a series of murders. Sophia, do you suspect this secret group of murdering your father?”
To Sophia’s dismay, tears formed in her eyes. “Yes. Especially Viscount Delmont.”
“I’m convinced Delmont tried to frame her for murder tonight—which means he must suspect Sophia of having knowledge of his illegal agenda. What I don’t know is why he chose to harm George Brass,” Robert said.
“I do.” Sophia fingered her filigree chain and locket. “Mr. Brass wanted to leave the Inventors’ Society. He knew my father and had made my locket years ago. He wrote me a note requesting that I meet him in the conservatory tonight, but when I arrived he had been attacked.”
“Brass didn’t send the note,” Robert said. “Delmont did.”
“So Viscount Delmont attempted to murder Mr. Brass just because he sought to leave the Inventors’ Society? It doesn’t make sense,” Jane said.
“Maybe his wife did it. She could have learned that Mr. Brass sent for me to dissolve their marriage,” Gareth said.
“I’m not surprised,” Sophia said, turning to look at Jane. “I overheard them arguing. Emma Brass is heartless. She put Charles’s name in the hat for the séance.”
Jane gasped. “Why?”
“To heighten the entertainment.”
Anger flared in Jane’s eyes. “Oh, for heavens sake! Has everyone lied to me?”
Guilt pierced Sophia’s chest like an arrow. The crippling emotion combined with the night’s horrid events was overwhelming and a hot tear trickled down her cheek. “I’m so sorry for keeping any of this from you, Jane. There were many times I wanted to tell you, but I feared for your safety.”
Jane was quick to embrace her. “Please don’t cry, darling. I understand. In my grief over Charles, I failed you after your father’s death. But no longer.” Jane glared at Robert. “Lady Falk and Lady Maxwell are notorious gossips and they plan to return to
London tomorrow. My cousin’s reputation is surely destroyed. Do you intend to act honorably, Lord Kirkland?”
“I do. Pack your bags. We’ll leave in the morning. I’ll send notice ahead to the priest at St. George’s,” Robert said.
Sophia stepped out of Jane’s arms and wiped her eyes with the backs of her hands. “What are you saying?”
Extraordinary blue eyes blazed in his face. “We’re getting married.”
…
After the men left, Sophia stood with her back pressed to the door, the shock of Robert’s statement reverberating through her mind.
Had he really insisted they marry?
Their relationship had started out as a farce—an engagement of convenience that could not possibly evolve into a real marriage. It was as unfathomable as the man himself.
He was a spy. His intentions had always been clear. He’d never wanted their sham betrothal and he’d never marry. If not for Wendover’s insistence, she would have been left behind in London. Their engagement was to last the length of the investigation, not a day more.
And what of the mission? If they departed immediately, Robert would not be able to complete his task. The secret society would not be revealed. Viscount Delmont wouldn’t be arrested. Her father’s murder would go unpunished.
She was aware of a rustling of covers as Jane sat on her bed.
“This is madness,” Sophia whispered.
“Which part? That your engagement was never real or that you’ve been involved in a secret investigation with a spy?”
“Is it really that bad?”
“It is, considering you were discovered by Lady Delmont sprawled half-naked over a billiard table.”
Sophia winced. “Robert never wanted any of this. He attempted to dissuade me and his superior out of the sham engagement.”
“Knowing your stubborn streak, I sympathize with Lord Kirkland.”
“You don’t understand, Jane,” Sophia protested. “He’s vehemently opposed to marriage.”
“He no longer has a choice. Thankfully, he understands the consequences and intends to act honorably.”
Sophia swallowed hard, suddenly angry at the turn of events. “I don’t want a husband who is forced to marry me just to save his honor or mine!”
“What do you want, Sophia?” Jane asked.
“The truth is I don’t want to end up like…like—”
“Like me? Like my marriage with Charles?”
Sophia bit her bottom lip. “What I mean to say is that just because a woman marries does not necessarily guarantee her happiness.”
She had watched Jane suffer from Charles’s neglect. If Robert was forced to the altar, would she suffer the same fate?
Jane’s voice rose an octave. “Do not think for one moment that Lord Kirkland is similar to Charles.”
“I do not want to be a burden as a wife. I want to be a partner,” Sophia insisted.
“I’ve seen the way you look at each other. Is marriage to Lord Kirkland that inconceivable to you?”
No, her inner voice cried out. Robert was unlike any man she knew, and she feared she was falling in love with him. There was kindness, honor, and compassion in him. She’d witnessed all firsthand. And there was an undeniable magnetism between them. He had but to look at her, and she felt a breathless surge of excitement. Time together had not diminished her infatuation. Each time she saw him, the pull was stronger and more enticing.
But there were dangerous secrets in the depth of his turquoise eyes, too.
Frightening secrets. Darkness and cruelty.
“I trust him, but there is a side to him I don’t know. I may never know. How can I marry a man with such secrets?”
Jane rose and held Sophia’s hand. “Despite what I said to Lord Kirkland tonight, you must know that your happiness is more important to me than any scandal. We could travel to Scotland where I have distant relatives. We need never set foot in England again. But you must be sure that you do not want him. He’s prepared to do right by you, and I believe deep down he is a good man, an honorable man. Are you certain?”
“Yes. No. I don’t know.”
“Then allow me to be a horrid chaperone for the second time tonight. Go to him. Talk to him. Be certain. For if we remain tomorrow you may not have a choice.”
Chapter Twenty-Three
Robert poured himself a glass of whiskey and set the decanter down on the nightstand by his bed, an arm’s length away. Leaning back on the oak headboard of the four-poster in his room, he let out a long held in breath.
After leaving the women, he had stealthily retrieved Sophia’s bloodstained wrapper from beneath the billiard room settee and returned to his bedchamber. He’d dispose of the evidence on their way to London.
He drained his glass and poured himself another. He was tired but suspected sleep would elude him for the remainder of the night. His blood had yet to calm. His rioting emotions had nothing to do with Brass’s attack, or their near escape from the constable, but from the danger posed to Sophia.
He should be grateful she’d at least left him a note telling him of her plans to meet Brass, but he was too angry at the risk she’d taken. And when he’d opened the conservatory door and found her covered in blood…
He’d known fear…true fear unlike any he’d experienced before; the stress of a hundred prior missions had paled in comparison. For a fleeting instant he’d thought her injured.
She could have died and left me just like—
His gut clenched tight, and he took another swallow of the whiskey.
Within seconds of observing the scene, instinct and training had taken over. He’d acted quickly to stop Delmont’s malicious plans to frame Sophia for a violent crime.
But he hadn’t been able to prevent complete disaster.
She had been found half-naked in his arms, ready to be ravished. Her reputation was destroyed; they’d have to marry at once.
The thought should shock him to the core. Repulse him. Frighten him. It didn’t.
Instead he’d known a possessive fury at the thought of her harmed in any way tonight. The unnerving truth was undeniable: Viscount Delmont and the mastermind suspected Sophia. The blackguards deemed her a threat to the secret group, and therefore, they wanted her eliminated.
The stakes had clearly risen. Sophia’s safety…her very life hung in the balance. They must not be given a second chance to harm her.
He’d told Jane that he would marry Sophia. He had every intention of carrying out that statement, but unlike Jane, he wasn’t solely concerned with Sophia’s reputation. As an unmarried lady without her father’s protection, Sophia was an easy victim. He’d be in a better position to keep her safe as his wife.
He would be breaking his vow never to remarry. But he’d broken his own vows before and had suffered the consequences. This time, he would be saving an innocent woman’s life.
He’d have to stay emotionally distant. He understood himself enough to know that this would require every ounce of his strength and resolve. Sophia tempted him at all levels—intellectually and sensually.
He closed his eyes and let the alcohol ease his tension. The house was quiet as all the guests had retired for the second time that night. He focused on his breathing—in and out—and concentrated on relaxing.
Images flashed through his mind, blinding in speed as the dream returned. He was on his knees in the bushes outside DeForte’s house.
The fuse was set. Check.
The explosives in place. Check.
The rotation of the guards. Check.
The Comte’s carriage slowly rambled up the stone drive and came to a stop before the enormous country house. The door opened and DeForte stepped out. Robert’s breath caught. He waited for the first sight of Gwendolyn. A dainty slipper appeared on the lowered step, a voluminous pink gown followed. A woman stepped down.
Chestnut hair, not blond.
Taller and curvaceous, not petite and slender. His mind struggled to comprehend
.
Sophia! What is she doing here?
He knew to expect the explosion, but nonetheless it caught him off guard. A flying roof slate cut his temple, and blood oozed into his eye. His ears rang as if he had stood inches away from a tolling church bell. He opened his mouth to scream, but his lungs filled with smoke and the stench of burning flesh singed his nostrils.
Someone firmly grasped his shoulder.
“Robert! Wake up.”
Reacting instinctively, he grasped the hand and squeezed. A female whimper pierced his brain.
His eyes sprang open, struggling to focus. “Sophia! What are you doing here?”
“I came to talk. Please…you’re hurting me.”
He instantly released his grip and sat upright. “Bloody hell! Haven’t you heard of knocking?”
“I knocked as loud as I dared without alerting anyone. When you didn’t answer, I opened the door. You were tossing in bed and mumbling in your sleep.”
He ran a shaky hand down his face. The dream had been frighteningly vivid. Never before had he pictured another victim in place of Gwendolyn. But Gwendolyn hadn’t been in DeForte’s carriage. It had been Sophia when the fuse had reached the explosives. Sophia who would have been blown to pieces.
“Are you all right?” she asked softly.
He opened his eyes to see the look of concern etched on her face. Her green eyes were large orbs, her full lips slightly parted. She wore the same blue gown she had changed into when they were questioned by the constable, but there were creases in the fabric and tendrils of chestnut hair had escaped the knot at her nape and curled around her neck.
Slowly, she reached out to push a wayward lock from his damp forehead. Despite everything, pure lust blasted through him and he was powerless to quench it.
“You shouldn’t be here. What of your cousin?” he said darkly.
“She knows. I came to talk.”
“We can talk tomorrow.” He swung his legs over the side of the bed and stood.
She shook her head and held her ground. “You were having a nightmare.”
Yes, I was. And, in it, I murdered you. Ghostly fingers of the dream still lingered in his mind. He pinched the bridge of his nose, tried to clear the vision. Get a hold of yourself, man. It was just a dream, damn it.
A Spy Unmasked (Entangled Scandalous) Page 16