The Wicked Spy

by Mary Lancaster

  Or did he guess why Gosselin was in Blackhaven? That possibility troubled Gosselin most, although he could not see how Delon could have learned anything like this from prison.

  The other possibility was that Delon had recognized him earlier and stayed to kill him when opportunity rose. Gosselin had no intention of giving him that chance but all the same, his flesh crawled at the idea of Delon of all people observing and following him for days.

  He would have to kill Delon first. Unfortunately, he could not just walk up and shoot the cur, or he would be locked up and unable to carry out his important task. Even provoking a duel would land him in trouble he could not afford. Nor did he rate highly his chances of breaking in to Delon’s hotel rooms and strangling him in his sleep. The rumor may have been that the escaping prisoner had been shot, but he didn’t look seriously weakened to Gosselin.

  No, the best solution to the problem would be if Delon were simply put back in prison.

  Gosselin, washed and shaved, pulled his trunk from under the rickety tavern bed, and drew out his black satin knee breaches and black evening coat. Once dressed with his usual care, he donned the disreputable hat and muffler and the dirty old greatcoat before leaving the tavern. In his tatty satchel, he carried a better overcoat. He had learned a lot from Delon over the years.

  The night was bitter, freezing a harder crust over the snow that lay on the ground. Having slouched around the harbor for a little, looking for any ships anchored close by, Gosselin ambled down to the beach, and walked along to Blackhaven Cove, where, with relief, he tore off the smelly coat and hat, swapping them for the coat in his bag, where he stuffed his disreputable clothes instead, and hid them in the mouth of a cave. The soldiers were still watching further up the coast, so as far as Gosselin could tell, he was unobserved.

  He walked quickly up the path, past his old house in Cliff View and on to High Street and the assembly rooms, where he would plead for a dance with the fascinating Lady Anna. At the masquerade ball, she had strung her admirers along by refusing to dance with any of them—including himself—but he had later seen her waltzing in the arms of a man in black. Gosselin hoped to be the favored partner this evening.

  He also hoped to find Colonel Delon in attendance.

  Almost as soon as he walked into the ballroom, he saw Anna holding court, drawing more attention than the dancers.

  Not for the first time, he wondered what it was that drew men to her. It was certainly not her fortune, because apparently, she had none. Which probably explained why she was still unmarried in her twenties. And why she appeared to be wearing the same silver-grey gown she’d worn at the masquerade. She did not make play with her fan, or flirt in other ways. And yet she talked and laughed with utter confidence…and supreme indifference. It was as if she tolerated her admirers only for amusing conversation, while retaining her own air of mystery. Even being laughed at or ignored only seemed to inspire her admirers to try harder.

  Well, he would not join the throng and become one of the many. The apparently favored “Sir Lytton” was not in attendance either, so perhaps he was employing the same strategy. Gosselin would be happy to steal a woman from under his enemy’s nose if opportunity arose. Not that the cold-hearted cur would care.

  There was no sign of the cur in the ballroom or the card room. Gosselin was disappointed, for Winslow the magistrate was present, as were several army officers. It would have been a good time to have him arrested, while Gosselin himself could play the hero. He would have every opportunity to monopolize Lady Anna then.

  While he waited for Anna to grow bored with her current crop of admirers, Gosselin made himself agreeable to other pretty women instead. It was no hardship. For a small town on the edge of England, in the middle of nowhere, Blackhaven seemed to boast a high number of beautiful and charming females, married and otherwise. When he had first come here, he had expected most of the women to be ageing and sickly, visiting Blackhaven only for their health. That this was not so, had been a pleasant surprise.

  When Anna finally stood and walked away, shedding her admirers like a puppy casting its coat, Gosselin was ready for her. Snatching up two glasses of champagne from a passing waiter, he tracked her across the room, halting when she paused to speak a few words to people on her way. Her eyes strayed to the entrance more than once. So did Gosselin’s. He wondered if they were looking for the same man.

  When she moved on again, Gosselin stepped out from behind his pillar and presented her with one of his glasses. She halted, her eyes widening with just a hint of startlement.

  “Lady Anna,” he greeted her with a slight bow. “I took the liberty of bringing you this—before you sent me away to fetch it.”

  “Mr. Banion.”

  He couldn’t help being gratified that she remembered his name. Or at least his alias.

  After an instant’s hesitation, she accepted the glass. “How very observant of you.”

  “It is something I cannot help, when in the same room as you.”

  She regarded him without either gratification or timidity and took a sip of her champagne. “Then you will know how much flattery bores me.”

  “Not flattery,” he insisted. “Simple honesty. And the desire to secure the waltz with you.”

  “Thank you, sir, but I do not dance.”

  “Yes, you do. I saw you at the masquerade.”

  She waved that aside with one elegantly gloved hand. “A single occasion—with an impudent fellow. Tonight, I do not dance.”

  “Not even with another impudent fellow?”

  “Especially not.”

  He hid his disappointment, though he did not give up. “Then you will take a turn about the ballroom with me?”

  She met his gaze, speculation in her own, “Very well,” she agreed, beginning to walk. “Are you a native of Blackhaven, Mr. Banion?”

  Piqued that she had not even troubled to discover that much about him, he replied, “No, alas. I arrived only a few weeks ago, hoping to benefit from the waters.”

  “Then you have not been well?”

  He wrinkled his nose with what he hoped was charming self-deprecation. “A nasty bout of the measles, my lady. Which I know full well is neither manly nor romantic.”

  She laughed. “I don’t believe any illness is! And have you not found the waters beneficial?”

  “I believe I have. But there is more than water to keep me.”

  She changed the subject, as most modestly brought up young women would have, but she did not abandon him. On the contrary, he found himself telling her about his life in Blackhaven and interspersing that with anecdotes from his real life. To all of this, she listened with flattering attention, laughing where appropriate and asking questions to encourage him.

  Once she stopped to speak to a gratified young couple who were just returning from the dance floor and introduced them to him as Mr. and Mrs. Bradley. “Although you may know each other already,” she added, “since you must both stay at the hotel.”

  “No, we have never met,” Mr. Bradley assured her. “Which room do you have, sir?”

  “Oh, I don’t put up at the hotel,” Gosselin said easily. “I took a house on Cliff View.”

  “Quite right,” Anna said. “I believe the hotel is horrendously expensive for a long stay. I suppose the tavern is cheaper.”

  So much so that it almost reconciles one to the odor of stale beer and fishy humanity. Even to the prospect of having one’s pocket picked on the way out the door. Lulled by Anna’s interest, and eager to impress her with his wit and knowledge, he almost blurted the words aloud, all in the hope of winning a smile from her.

  “But hardly recommended,” he managed, before he saw that Anna was no longer listening. Following her gaze to the entrance, he saw Colonel Delon.

  “Sir Lytton Lewis,” the major domo announced.

  Gosselin’s chest tightened. He excelled in intrigue not in physical danger, and despite his intention of confronting his enemy in public, his courage almo
st failed at the sight of him. After all, Delon had every reason to want Gosselin dead, too, and had considerably more personal skill and experience in such matters.

  Gosselin tried to prepare himself for the imminent meeting, but to his surprise, Anna turned and walked the other way with a mere, “Excuse me,” to the Bradleys. Since she didn’t forbid his presence, he hastily caught up with her.

  “And you, my lady,” he said pleasantly. “How long do you stay in Blackhaven?”

  “I cannot tell. Serena has invited me to stay for Christmas, and I probably shall, now that the weather has turned. I should not care to travel post haste into a snow drift!”

  “Indeed not.” Just ahead, Mr. and Mrs. Winslow were delivering up their daughter to a young man for the next dance.

  It did not take much to steer Anna in their direction. In fact, he did not even need to draw attention to them by greeting them, for Anna was already saying. “Good evening, Mrs. Winslow. Mr. Winslow.”

  Now, he had the perfect witness for his accusation. There was even an army officer in a smart red uniform close-by. Annoyingly, however, Delon seemed in no hurry to pursue Anna. Nor did she summon him with so much as a look. It began to dawn on Gosselin that Delon was no longer the favored suitor, and in spite of the difficulties it created now for his own plan, he couldn’t help being maliciously glad. Perhaps he could even seduce Anna and make sure Delon knew before he died in that English prison…

  However, this pleasant daydream was interrupted by the reforming of Anna’s court around her now that she stood still once more. Gosselin had to use his elbows to avoid losing his place at her side.

  Then, to his annoyance, Delon finally approached, and the young men around Anna seemed to part for him, allowing him immediate access. It was little consolation that Anna clearly saw and ignored the movement. She certainly did not greet the newcomer.

  Emboldened, Gosselin raised his voice and addressed the army officer who, with his friends, appeared to have joined the outer fringes of Anna’s court.

  “Sir, does not this fellow look familiar to you?”

  The officer, nudged into awareness, glanced at Gosselin in surprise. “What fellow?”

  Gosselin pointed dramatically at Delon. “That fellow!”

  “Well, yes, he’s Sir Lytton Lewis,” the officer said easily.

  “He’s not Sir Anything,” Gosselin said scornfully. “Look beneath the speech and the smart clothes! Is he not your escaped prisoner?”

  The group around them quieted at last with a hint of unease. Until Delon laughed. “Banion,” he said affectionately. “You will have me hanged one of these days.”

  “Oh, I hope so! Well sir?” Gosselin snapped at the officer, who looked at him as though he were mad. “Is he not the Frenchman?”

  “How would I know?” the officer demanded, uncertain whether or not to be amused. “I was never in the fort.”

  It was a blow. Gosselin had assumed all the soldiers around Blackhaven were part of the same regiment and shared the same duties.

  “Neither was I,” Delon lied easily. “Let us go together Banion and be done.”

  But if he thought to threaten Gosselin, he landed wide off the mark.

  Gosselin did not smile. He looked from the officer to the bewildered Mr. Winslow and back. “Believe me, if you do not arrest this man now, and return him to the fort, you are going to look very foolish indeed.”

  Chapter Twelve

  In that instant, Louis saw that Gosselin had his listeners. He doubted anyone would arrest him on the spot, but awkward questions would now, surely, be asked.

  Under the suddenly tense observation of the Winslows and Anna’s sea of admirers, Louis met his enemy’s gaze with a tolerant amusement he did not feel, while he tried to decide on the best way to deal with the situation.

  And then Anna’s laughter broke across them. “Mr. Banion,” she scolded. “What a tease, you are! You almost had me believing you. Had not the Braithwaites’ governess—who you must know has been more than once in Sir Lytton’s company!—already identified a quite different man!”

  In the general, somewhat bewildered laughter, she actually took Gosselin’s arm and began to walk with him. “I suppose you must be very old friends with Sir Lytton,” she confided, “to play such a joke on him.”

  “Very, very old,” Louis murmured as his enemy all but brushed against him. Gosselin seemed as bewildered by his companion as by the sudden vanishing of his dangerous accusation. But Gosselin and his little trick no longer concerned Louis. What worried him was that Anna had not so much as glanced at him since he had entered the ballroom.

  Even now, even through the fraught moment of Gosselin’s accusation, Louis’s body still hummed from the excitement of holding her in his arms this morning. Her surrender had elated him, her untutored, instinctive response to his kisses had thrilled him. Her wonder and confusion were so at odds with her usual bold confidence that she only fascinated him all the more.

  Nor could he doubt that she had found that first kiss as shattering as he had. She would not otherwise have spilled out the truth. The naivety of that moved him. For the rest of the day, even as he’d continued tracking Gosselin, and making his own arrangements, she had been there in all his thoughts. And although he had followed Gosselin here, he would have come anyway, just on the off-chance of seeing Anna again.

  And there she was, having turned a dangerous moment for him into a mere jest. And she was all the more convincing for wandering off with Gosselin. Even though it made Louis’s blood boil with fury and fear for her.

  Keeping her discreetly in view, he stayed with the Winslows for a little longer, discussing the Bradleys’ run-in with the highwayman which, Winslow said, was so like Sir Lytton’s own experience that it had to be the same man.

  Louis nodded sagely. “But there has been no further sign of him?”

  “Nothing around here or over the border. Someone did try to hold up the Edinburgh mail but the coach never stopped and the driver said the assailant appeared to be drunk. I doubt it was the same man.”

  “Well, providing he has stopped, I find I bear him no ill will,” Louis confided. “Since I would not otherwise have come to Blackhaven.”

  Anna quickly abandoned “Banion” and was seen next with two young army officers. She did not dance but flitted like some restless butterfly from place to place, never gravitating closer to Louis.

  Louis gave her time, by dancing with the Winslows’ daughter. After that, he hunted her down, for he would not lose her.

  The thought sparked a deep twinge of unease. He would not lose her? He could not keep her, even if he won her. Neither his choice nor hers mattered when they were enemies, when the French and the British both wanted him dead. And despite all the plans he formulated, he wasn’t sure he could ever abandon France to its fate. Even for her.

  At this moment, though, he needed to convince Anna that this morning’s encounter had come from genuine feeling. Dear God, how could it not?

  She saw him coming, of course, and retreated further away. But in this part of the ballroom, closest to the door, it seemed she had no acquaintances to protect her. So, refusing to be cornered, she simply walked out.

  He was in time to see the train of her gown vanish into the ladies’ cloakroom. Although he could think of no reason why she would go outside, just to be sure, he lounged near the ballroom entrance, from where he could see the cloakroom door.

  She emerged a couple of minutes later and walked back toward the ballroom. She entered briskly, heading directly for Serena and the vicar’s wife who sat together enjoying what looked like a comfortable gossip.

  Louis fell into casual step with her. “You are avoiding me,” he said pleasantly.

  “Can you blame me?” she said at once. “Who wants to be seen with the French spy?”

  “Thank you for that. I foresee a great future for your bother-in-law with you behind him.”

  “So do I,” she said cordially. “Did you want some
thing before I continue to avoid you?”

  “Many things,” he replied at once. “But I would settle for five minutes of your time.” He let his fingers brush against hers and she snatched her hand back as though using it to adjust her other glove. He let it go for now. Other matters were more urgent. “You defended me,” he pointed out, low-voiced. “You must be on your guard against him, now.”

  “I am always on my guard.”

  “I know.”

  At last, she looked at him, a quick, darting glance. “Then what did you really wish to say?”

  “What I just did,” he said firmly. “And also, to entice you into the alcove to our left.”

  This time, she met his gaze properly, challenging him. “Why?”

  “I want to kiss you,” he said softly.

  Color seeped into her face. “Why?” she repeated.

  “I liked it the last time and I want more.”

  “Don’t be silly. We both had parts to play.”

  It was her means of self-defense. He understood but could not let it stand. He could not allow her believe that he used her, that such was all she would ever know. With a low growl of irritation, he cast a quick look around and, grasping her fingers, whisked her into the alcove and let the curtain fall behind them.

  Giving her no time, he snatched her into his arms and crushed her mouth under his. There was an instant’s resistance and then she just let him kiss her. It was delicious, heady, but not enough. He needed her response, that instinctive, fiery passion he’d tasted this morning. And so, he coaxed her, caressing and opening her lips wider, exploring her mouth while he stroked her smooth, elegant neck and the pulse that beat at its base.

  With a gasp, she seized the hair at the back of his head, but not to pull him off her, to drag him nearer while she kissed him back at last. His soft groan was more relief than triumph.

  “There are no roles here, Anna,” he whispered. “I want you and I won’t pretend otherwise.”

  Her fingers fluttered against his cheek, his lips. “I can’t give you that, Louis.”