by Regina Scott
All at once, he leaned forward from across the coach, cocking his head to see past her out the window.
“What is it?” Ariadne asked, pulse quickening.
“We’re being followed,” he said, and he did not sound distressed by the matter.
Ariadne was afraid to look lest she give away the game. “Surely there must be other carriages going the same direction we are this time of night. People returning home from balls, gentlemen from their clubs.”
“Perhaps,” he acknowledged. “We’ll see shortly.” He lowered the window and called up to his coachman. “Change of plans, Butters. Make for Almack’s, and be quick about it.”
Chapter Thirteen
“Almack’s?” Ariadne said, clutching the seat as the carriage sped. “Why would we go there?”
“For safety,” he said, watching the carriage behind them. “Your parents and sister are there, as is most of the ton. I’ll escort you inside, then run this fellow to ground.”
“No,” Ariadne informed him. She pointed to his legs below the folds of his tweed greatcoat. “You won’t be admitted.”
He glanced down at his trousers and bit back an oath. “You’re right. I have no idea who made the decree that only knee breeches are allowed, but as the almighty patronesses turned away Wellington for wearing trousers, I doubt I can charm my way in. I’ll have to ask you to enter on your own.”
A sensible plan, but for one thing. “They won’t allow me in either,” Ariadne said.
He glanced at her. “Why? That white muslin should be perfectly acceptable.”
He truly didn’t follow fashion. “That isn’t the issue. I wasn’t granted vouchers.”
He leaned forward and frowned as if he could not have heard her properly. “I saw your family go. I was certain someone mentioned Almack’s.”
Oh, the injustice! “My sister was granted vouchers. I was not.”
He leaned back. “Well, that was short-sighted. Probably afraid you’d show them up, the old cats.”
She should not be pleased to hear the legendary patronesses vilified, but she couldn’t help her smile. “Thank you, I think.”
He drummed his fingers on the seat, gaze once out the window at the coach behind them. “It seems Almack’s is of no use to us. I can’t very well take you to a gentleman’s lodging like the Fenton, betrothal or not. I don’t want to lead him back to your house.”
“Very likely he already knows where I live,” she replied, hiding the shudder that thought engendered. “News of our engagement seems to have traveled far and wide. And my family is hardly unknown among the ton.”
He opened the window again. “Make that Pierce Place in Mayfair.”
Ariadne frowned as he shut the window. “That’s where Priscilla lives.”
“Small, secluded, innocuous,” he agreed. “And well known to you. Can you think of a better place to hide?”
“Lacking a crypt or an abandoned monastery, no. But what I don’t understand is why we are hiding. I thought you wanted to catch the fellow.”
“That has been my goal for weeks,” Sinclair admitted. “But I cannot risk any harm coming to you.”
If a hero had said that in a book, she would have thought it a noble gesture. Now it hardly satisfied. The security of the Empire was at stake!
“Nonsense,” she said. “Are you prepared to capture this spy, here, now?”
The frown was back in his voice. “Certainly, but . . .”
“Then catch him.” She yanked down the window and shouted against the wind. “Driver! Stop. Now!”
“My lady?” he threw back even as Sinclair stiffened.
“Now!” Ariadne screeched, and then nearly tumbled into Sinclair as the coach jerked to a stop. He held her shoulders as they both listened, heads turned to the window. As the harness settled, the horses quieted, the approaching rumble of the other coach seemed to fill the air.
It passed in an instant, yet it felt like years passed with it. She made out the driver hunched in his greatcoat, whip at the ready, the heavy black panels and wheels. The windows were shuttered, giving no glimpse to the occupants.
She pushed on the door. “Go on! Follow him! I’ll be fine.”
With a look that begged forgiveness, Sinclair leaped out and sped after the other coach. She saw the back bounce--he must have jumped aboard. Then the other coach disappeared around the corner.
“My lady?” Sinclair’s coachman called. “What would you have me do?”
He must have seen his master leave, even if he had no idea why. “Wait here a moment,” she told him. “Then follow that carriage at a sedate pace. We want to be available should Lord Hawksbury require assistance.”
“Right you are, miss.”
Satisfied he knew what to do, she pushed up the window. As she lowered her arms, a face leered through the glass.
With a cry, she fell back from the door, but the man grabbed it and jumped inside, landing in a crouch before her. She opened her mouth to cry out, and he clamped a gloved hand over her lips.
“Quiet now. I’ve a message for your betrothed’s employer, and he won’t thank you for interrupting it. Will you listen?”
Did she have a choice? Mind sorting through options, Ariadne nodded, and he drew back his hand and sat across from her. In the darkness, all she could make out was powerful shoulders swathed in a dark hooded cloak.
“Good girl,” he said as if she were a favored hunting dog that had just brought home a pigeon. “Now, you tell Lord Hastings that we’re on to him and his little cadre.”
She nodded again, feeling the carriage start forward once more. The coachman was obviously oblivious to his extra passenger, but surely Sinclair had realized by now that the other coach was empty. Any moment, he would return to her. She just had to keep his quarry occupied.
That this was anyone other than his spy never entered her mind. He was shaped like Sinclair, from height to build. She could not doubt dark hair lay inside that hood. At times, Sinclair must have felt he was chasing his own shadow.
She settled back against the squabs as if prepared for a good coz with Emily.
“Lord Hastings?” she asked politely. “Oh, I couldn’t possibly tell him anything. I don’t believe I’ve had the pleasure of an introduction.”
“Doesn’t matter,” the spy grit out. “Your sweetheart will know how to reach him, hidden in the depths of Whitehall like a shark awaiting prey.”
“Technically, I believe sharks patrol more shallow waters,” Ariadne explained. “There was a wonderful lecture on maritime predators at the British Museum last winter. I’m surprised I didn’t see you there.”
His hand sliced the air like a knife, and she flinched despite herself. “Pay attention, girl! You tell Hastings to back off, or someone will get hurt.”
Ariadne forced her eyes wide, hoping she resembled Daphne at her most confused. “Pardon me, but I thought that was the entire point. You are attempting to harm something about England: steal information, stop our advances across the Continent, capture our capitol. By necessity, someone will get hurt. You’ve already shot at me.”
“I never shot at you,” he growled. “I shot at Hawksbury.”
The dastard! She should have realized she was never the target. “Either way, you cannot expect Lord Hastings to quiver at a thought he’s no doubt been dealing with for months. You have to give him specifics, sir, details.”
“I don’t have to give him anything,” he insisted. “You just deliver my message.”
She sighed. “I’m afraid I can’t. It goes against everything I believe in. I mean, as a villain you really should do better if you hope for any chance of being remembered. If all you can manage are vague generalities, you’ll simply have to deliver the message yourself.”
He gaped at her. “Are you that brave or that stupid?”
At the moment, she wasn’t sure. Where was Sinclair? What would she do if the villain turned violent and shot at her again? In close quarters, he could not miss this
time.
“I have been told I’m reasonably intelligent,” she said, hoping he didn’t notice the tremor that was starting inside her. “Truly, if you could just supply a few more details, I’d be happy to deliver your message.”
“Details, eh?” He leaned forward, and for a moment light from outside caught his face. She willed herself to memorize every inch of it. “What if I were to capture your betrothed and torture him until he sang?”
Horrid picture. Horrid metaphor. “Very likely he’s proof against torture,” she replied. “And I doubt you’ll appreciate his singing voice. I imagine he’s a tenor, and not a particularly good one.”
He shook his head. “You’re a cool one, I’ll give you that. But here’s a detail you can’t ignore. You deliver my message to Lord Hastings or your sister is likely to meet with an accident. Will that suffice, or shall I tell you exactly how I plan to wring her pretty neck?”
Ariadne swallowed. “No need. I have a vivid imagination.”
“Good.”
The carriage was slowing. The coachman must have spotted Sinclair approaching or was hoping for further instruction from Ariadne. Any moment, she’d have help.
The spy must have realized it as well, for he reached for the door.
“And who shall I say provided this tepid warning?” she asked, trying to think of any way to keep him in the coach.
He glanced her way. “An old friend.”
“Wait!” Ariadne cried, putting out her hand.
But he whisked open the door and disappeared into the night.
Chapter Fourteen
Sinclair nodded his thanks to his coachman as he walked back to the door. What a waste of time! The hackney had been empty, its driver blathering on about mysterious riders who disappeared along the way after paying in gold. The fellow only knew he was to follow Sinclair’s coach until it reached its destination. Sinclair was no closer to guessing his quarry’s identity, and he still had to get Ariadne safely home without incurring her parents’ wrath.
He opened the door and climbed inside, and she launched herself at him.
“Oh, it was horrid, hideous!” she cried, clinging to him.
Sinclair put his arms around her, held her close, breathing in the scent of honeysuckle. Her curves nestled nicely against him. The silk of her cheek against his was softer than fine muslin.
“Now, then,” he murmured. “It’s all right. I’m back. No one shall harm you.”
She pulled away, lamplight from outside sparkling on the tears trickling down her cheek. “That’s not the issue. He was here, in this coach, offering danger.”
He stared at her. “You saw him?”
“Saw him, spoke to him,” she insisted, head bobbing so hard some of her hair tumbled down to brush her shoulders. “It was positively terrifying.”
Sinclair grabbed the door handle once more and leaped from the coach, pausing to glance back at Ariadne, who had pushed herself into her seat. “Which way did he go?” he demanded.
She waved a trembling hand. “Left? Right? Who knows in the dark? Besides, it’s too late now. You’ll never catch him.”
Again. Disappointment bit sharply as he climbed back into the coach. She drew in a shuddering breath, and the terror inside her seemed to reach out to him and draw him closer. He sat down beside her, put an arm about her shoulders and let her head rest against his shoulder.
“At least he didn’t hurt you,” he murmured, thankfulness welling up inside.
She shook her head, and his heart sank. “What he did was far worse,” she said. “He issued a generic warning!”
Now Sinclair shook his head, certain he’d misheard. “What?”
She sat back from him as if intent on making him see her case. “He issued vile threats with no substance behind them, and when I demanded details, he said he’d wring Daphne’s neck. Oh, but he must be stopped!”
He quite agreed, but he still felt as if he’d come into a play in mid-act and had no idea of the plot. “Perhaps you should tell me exactly what happened.”
She squared her shoulders. “No time. We must meet with Lord Hastings immediately.”
Something cold slid over him. How did she know? Was she a member of Lord Hastings’s cadre as well, or had Sinclair given her some clue that would allow her to guess the name of their leader? He refused to believe she was anything other than innocent.
Careful to betray none of his feelings, Sinclair eyed her. “Lord Hastings? Do you mean the Marquis of Hastings? What has he to do with all this?”
She threw up her hands. “Apparently he is your employer.”
Still, he refused to react. “What would make you think that?”
“Because the villain claimed it! Oh, please hurry. Who knows what he’s planning? I won’t have my sister harmed. She isn’t even part of the story!”
He reached out and took her hands in his. “Don’t worry, Ariadne. I’ll keep her safe.”
“How?” she demanded. “You couldn’t even catch him in his carriage.”
He released her hands and sat back. She was right, of course. He’d thought he’d had the fellow cornered at the Rottenford masquerade, but the spy had escaped discovery. He’d caught sight of the fellow when the fiend had fired in Hyde Park and given chase, but his quarry had disappeared. Sinclair had been within yards of him just now and missed him completely. Some intelligence agent he made.
His feelings must have betrayed him, for she quieted. “Forgive me. I never meant to disparage your skills.”
“Such as they are,” he replied. “Pardon me a moment.” He opened the window and instructed Butters to take them back to the Rollings’s town house.
“I’m sure you’re an excellent intelligence agent,” she insisted as he settled back in his seat across from her. “You’ve proven quite resourceful.”
“Not resourceful enough.” He rubbed his hands along his coat. “I didn’t intend to be an agent. I wanted to go to Spain, fight alongside Wellington. Many of my friends from school went. Father refused to jeopardize his heir.”
“Understandable,” she commiserated as the coach set off once more. “I imagine some tight-fisted distant cousin with horrible taste would inherit if something happened to you.”
He smiled at the picture. “Actually, Cousin Leonard is a very nice fellow who endows the Royal Society for the Arts generously. He was eagerly anticipating the title until I came along.”
“So denied the right to join the Hussars, you became an intelligence agent instead?”
The way she said it made his decision sound wildly romantic. He had to admit it felt that way some times.
“I needed to do something,” he explained. “Some of my friends never came back, you see, or came back battered, broken. It didn’t seem right that I was allowed to stay home, dance the night away, while they risked their lives and futures. I must have complained about the situation to the right person, because my superior sought me out.”
“Lord Hastings,” she surmised.
Not much use denying it now. “Lord Hastings. He is aware of the need for intelligence to help win this war, and he realized that a great deal of intrigue is masked by Society’s polite façade.”
“Very nicely said,” she replied. “I wish I had my journal with me to record that sentiment.”
For some reason, her statement eased the disappointment of the last few minutes. “Now that’s the Ariadne I know and admire,” he said. “I take it you’re feeling better.”
“I was only rattled,” she promised. “But I still wish to meet Lord Hastings.”
Sinclair shook his head. “Out of the question. For one thing, it’s difficult to know where he’ll be at any given moment.”
“He is a marquis,” she said. “Surely he must meet with his man of affairs, attend Parliament, eat dinner with family.”
“Most likely, but I have no knowledge of his staff, I am not a member of Parliament just yet, and his only son is a greater profligate than I am, so I doubt they spend
many dinners together.”
She sighed. “You are far too busy with important matters to qualify as a profligate. Lord Hastings must have some place he accepts reports from his agents. Take me there.”
“I don’t think that’s wise,” he started, and she slumped in her seat.
“I see,” she said, and he was afraid to hear just what that clever mind had gleaned from his demeanor and conversation this time. “Is it that you are afraid to acknowledge me as your betrothed? Is that why we had to meet your father at night? Am I such an ape leader?”
He’d heard the term applied to confirmed spinsters with faces like horses. “Certainly not!” he declared, stiffening. “I can honestly say you’re one of the loveliest young ladies out this Season. And I doubt there’s one more intelligent. No, we met my father at night because he tends to sleep most of the day.”
She seemed to accept that. “Then why not allow me to meet Lord Hastings?”
Was he being overly cautious? Or did some part of him want to keep the excitement of spying to himself? Neither furthered his cause. Hastings could surely keep her safe even if Sinclair could not.
“All right,” he agreed, and she gave a little squeal of delight. He held up his hand. “But not tonight. I’ll call on you at eleven and take you to him.”
“Promise?” she challenged.
“Promise,” he said.
He only prayed it was a promise he would live to keep.
Chapter Fifteen
Thank goodness Sinclair managed to bring her home before her parents and Daphne returned from Almack’s. Pattison gave her a narrowed-eyed look as she passed the butler in the entry, but she continued up the stairs without acknowledging him.
What a night! She allowed her maid to help her undress, fending off carefully worded questions with even more carefully worded answers. She was very glad to be left alone in the quiet.
She’d always liked her bedchamber, decorated as it was in shades of rose and cream, from the chintz print of begonias on her bed hangings to the thick flower-patterned carpet underfoot. Tonight it felt cramped, tight, as if it could no longer hold the person she was becoming.