by Aston, Alexa
“You are repugnant. Don’t you ever touch me again or I will claw your eyes out.” Her voice was low and deadly. “And you know I would do it.”
He laughed again. “Don’t you get lonely, Gemma? No man to warm your bed. I could do that for you. How long has Rob been gone? You only had two days together before he left. Enough time to get a taste for sex. Surely, you must miss it.”
“You would be the last man I would ever have touch me,” she declared. “I mean it, Richard. Don’t come near me again—or I will go to Lord Covington.”
“You think Father would believe you over me?” he asked.
“Actually, I do.”
Gemma and Lord Covington had grown close since her marriage to his younger son. When he’d seen her love of word puzzles, he’d approached her about helping him out. He regularly brought home information from dispatches and cryptic codes that spies had intercepted from throughout Europe. With her logical mind and determination, she’d proven to be very successful in helping break several codes. In fact, she’d done so well that she now earned a salary from the War Office. She’d protested when she received her first payment, but her father-in-law told her that England was paying millions of dollars to spies across England and Europe and told her she earned every pound given her.
Richard gagged and then vomited, mostly on himself. Seeing he was so drunk he merely lay there, she gathered the pages she’d been working on and hurried from the library. She saw the butler letting in Lord Covington and told the servant there was a situation in the library. That was what cleaning up after Richard was called in this household. Gemma only wished the viscount could be kicked to the curb.
“Ah, Gemma, my dear.” Her father-in-law greeted her with a kiss to the cheek. “Do you have time to come to my study?”
“Of course, Lord C.”
She followed him to the cozy room. He’d asked her to call him by his first name but she hadn’t been comfortable doing so. And even though she wasn’t especially close to her father, she couldn’t call him Papa when he suggested that instead. Finally, they had settled upon Lord C. It was familiar enough without being overly so. She looked upon the earl with great affection.
He took the seat behind his desk and she sat in one in front of it. Gemma apologized for not yet being able to find the key to the code he’d given her.
“It’s all right. Another agent broke it an hour ago. We have a team of ten in place, going over dispatches now.”
She handed him the pages in her hand. “Then these should be destroyed.”
“I’ll burn them myself,” he promised. “Have you heard from Rob lately?”
Though her husband only wrote to her sporadically, he rarely sent any kind of message to his father.
“I did receive a short note two weeks ago.”
“Does he seem happy?”
She gave him a knowing look. “It’s Rob we’re talking about, Lord C. Do you think being a soldier during wartime makes him happy?”
The earl shook his head sadly. “His commanding officers think very highly of him and the work he’s doing.”
That phrasing gave her pause. The work he’s doing. It sounded . . . odd. As if Rob wasn’t involved in war in the usual ways.
“Is Rob an agent for the crown, Lord C?” Gemma asked.
She’d suspected it, especially when Rob had her direct her letters to Lieutenant-Colonel Baker. And now hearing his commanding officers thought well of his work—and the fact that report had gotten back to the War Office—made her want to know.
“Yes. He’s an agent in the field,” Lord C confirmed. “Since last autumn.”
Fear gripped Gemma. It was bad enough thinking about her husband on a battlefield but to know he was some type of secret agent that went behind enemy lines paralyzed her.
“You know I’m only telling you because I know you won’t speak of it,” he said.
She knew she was sworn to secrecy about her work for the government and said, “Of course, I’d never tell a soul. I wouldn’t endanger Rob in any way.”
The old man gazed at her fondly. “You do love my boy.”
“I do,” she said firmly, even though it was only the love of friendship. “Rob is the dearest person in the world to me. I pray nightly for Bonaparte to come to his senses and end this madness so that my husband can come home to me.”
They spoke for a few minutes about things Lord C was working on and then Gemma told him goodnight. She would read for a while, hoping to become sleepy. She was still upset by the incident with Richard and wondered why she hadn’t mentioned it to his father. But how do you tell a man you so admire that his son is a toad?
Exiting the earl’s study, she went to the staircase to go to her bedchamber. A loud pounding sounded on the front door. A footman seated nearby rose and went to answer the knock. Curious, Gemma stood where she was, wanting to see who was knocking at the door so insistently.
“Come quick!” a voice cried out.
By now, Lord C had left his study and he walked to the door.
“What is the meaning of this?” he asked, clearly annoyed.
“The bloke pointed. Said he lives here. Hurry, your lordship!”
The man, who was dressed in livery, turned and ran. Lord C and the footman followed, so Gemma did the same.
What she saw horrified her. Her hands flew to her mouth to keep the scream from erupting.
Richard lay in the street. Broken. He must have stumbled outside after she’d gone to speak with Lord C. A carriage stood nearby and she realized the vehicle had struck him. Or rather, crashed into him.
“He just appeared from nowhere,” the driver said, his hands waving wildly, clearly upset.
Lord C fell to his knees, cradling his heir’s head. Gemma knelt beside them and took Richard’s hand in hers. His eyes looked glassy. Blood bubbled from his mouth. She couldn’t look anywhere but his face because the one glimpse she’d had of his twisted body nearly did her in.
He wheezed and more blood came from his mouth and nose. Then he stilled.
The earl let out an anguished cry that pierced the night. Gemma wished she knew how to comfort him.
Then it hit her.
Rob was now Viscount Lowell—and would one day become the Earl of Covington.
*
The carriage entered London and had to slow as the traffic became thick. Gemma glanced across at her father-in-law and saw his eyes were closed. He’d been silent the entire journey from the country to the city. They returned now from Richard’s funeral. She knew he’d taken the death of his heir apparent hard. His appetite had been nonexistent the past few days. He rarely spoke. She hoped being back in town he would bury himself in work and find solace in it.
Three-quarters of an hour later, they arrived at the Covington townhouse. The door opened and she noticed how pale he looked.
“Lord C, we’ve arrived,” Gemma said.
The earl opened his eyes. For a moment, they looked cloudy and confused. Then he blinked several times and seemed to be more aware of his surroundings.
A coachman helped them both from the vehicle and she took her father-in-law’s arm to help steady him. The door opened and the butler greeted them.
As they entered the foyer, she asked, “Would you like something to eat? You’ve only picked at your meals the past few days.”
He tapped lightly on his chest with his fingers as he shook his head. “No. I seem to have indigestion. Nothing sounds good to me right now. Perhaps later, Gemma.”
“Then why don’t I help you upstairs so you can rest.”
“All right.”
They ascended the stairs and reached the first landing. The earl paused. He groaned and clutched near his heart. As he crumbled to the ground, Gemma looked to the bottom floor and shouted, “Fetch Doctor Ridgeway!”
A footman looked up the stairs and then rushed out the door. The butler appeared again and saw them both as she cradled Lord C’s head in her lap. He hollered and two more footmen cam
e running.
The three men hurried up to them. Between the three, they managed to get the earl to his feet and carried him up to his bedchamber, easing him onto the bed. By now, Lord C’s valet was here and he loosened the earl’s cravat and unbuttoned his waistcoat and shirt. The earl grimaced in pain and the valet stepped aside.
“Leave,” the nobleman commanded, his voice thin and weak but his intent clear.
The footmen backed away. The valet and butler stood their ground.
“Gemma. Stay.” His eyes flashed in anger. “Go,” he ordered again.
All four servants abandoned the room. She sat on the bed and took his right hand in hers. His left went to his heart and he groaned.
“You’re having a heart attack,” she said calmly. “I know it hurts but panic will only increase the pain.”
“Feels . . . like someone’s . . . stabbing me,” he muttered.
“Don’t talk. Let’s breathe together. Slowly. In. Out. In. Out.”
She kept the rhythm up until he followed her lead and though he grimaced, she believed the incident had passed. Hopefully, the damage to his heart had been mild and the doctor would be able to save him. He would need to lead a quieter life, one with less stress, but he would still be alive.
“Don’t . . . let Robert come . . . home. Work . . . too important. Must keep England safe.”
She placed a hand against his forehead, trying to soothe him.
“So proud . . . of him.”
Gemma smiled. “He would be happy to hear you say that.”
She doubted Lord C had ever uttered the words to his younger son. He was stingy with compliments but she knew he loved Rob.
“Send for . . . Sir Paxton. He’ll take you on. Will . . . keep your role . . . quiet.”
Gemma didn’t hesitate, knowing it would agitate him if she didn’t do as he asked. She released his hand and went to the door. Stepping into the corridor, she saw both the butler and valet standing there, their faces stricken with grief.
“Lord Covington wishes for Sir Paxton Morris to come. Send for him immediately. You can find him at the War Office.”
The butler nodded and hurried off. Gemma returned to her bedside vigil.
They sat in silence until Doctor Ridgeway arrived. The butler brought him to the bedchamber and hovered in the doorway until Gemma nodded curtly to dismiss him.
The physician came to the bed and took the earl’s wrist. “What seems to trouble you my lord?”
“Tell him,” the nobleman said to Gemma.
Ridgeway looked to her. “What symptoms has he shown, Mrs. Smythe?”
Before she could speak, the earl corrected, “Lady Lowell.”
The doctor frowned a moment.
She explained his recent lack of appetite and seeming indigestion and then his collapse before describing the stabbing pain to the earl’s heart.
“He just lost his older son. We buried him yesterday,” she added, making it clear why she was suddenly Lady Lowell.
Ridgeway nodded solemnly. “It’s definitely a heart attack, Lord Covington. I’ve had several patients recover from them, however.”
Having the last word, her father-in-law said, “Not this time.”
He shut his eyes. Gemma saw his chest rise and fall once more and then it stilled. After a minute, the doctor lifted his patient’s wrist again, his lips thinning. He reached to the earl’s neck and felt for a pulse there.
Turning to her, he said, “I’m afraid he’s gone, Lady Covington.”
Numbly, she moved close and bent to kiss his brow. Lord C had been a second father to her, treating her with dignity and respect, unlike her own. Sir William Barton thought all women fluffheads, seeing little value in them. Her father-in-law had accepted her intelligence and put her to good use but he’d also been kind and loving toward her.
She accompanied Dr. Ridgeway from the room, shaking her head when the valet looked at her hopefully.
“I’ll see to him, my lady,” the servant said, entering the room of his late master.
Gemma and the physician went downstairs.
“Thank you for coming so quickly,” she told him.
“I’m only sorry I could do nothing for him. Lord Covington was a good, decent man. He will be missed.”
She watched the physician leave and the butler came to her.
“Sir Paxton is waiting for you in the study, my lady.”
It surprised her he was already here.
“Thank you,” she said. With a heavy heart, she went to speak with her visitor.
Sir Paxton rose as she entered the room. He was in his early forties and thin as a beanpole, with bright blue eyes behind his glasses.
“Lord Covington just passed,” Gemma informed him. She hesitated a moment and revealed, “He said you’re to take me on and keep quiet regarding my role. I assume that was to protect me.” She sniffed. “Or to prevent others from knowing a female has been involved in solving codes.”
“My condolences, Lady Covington. Lord Covington spoke very highly of you and your skills. I will be honored to supervise your work for the War Office. As of this moment, only your father-in-law and I knew of your contributions to the war effort. You have my solemn promise it will remain that way. I will keep no record of your participation but I will see that you continue to be paid through funds which I have access to.”
“Thank you, Sir Paxton. I appreciate being able to continue my work. Lord Covington also said not to call my husband home. That whatever work Rob is doing was too important to pull him from the field.”
Gemma hated telling the man this for she longed for Rob to come home. Especially now.
“I must agree with him in that regard, my lady. Lord Covington is doing valuable work in the field, just as you are here at home.”
Sir Paxton stood. “I will leave you to arrange the details that fall upon you now. I’ll be in touch in a week’s time.”
Morris left the study with a crisp nod.
Gemma collapsed in a chair. She’d just lost her beloved father-in-law. Her husband was involved in some risky operation in a foreign land that involved national security.
And she’d been given a week to mourn before she was put back to work by the crown.
Chapter Three
Spain—May 1809
It wasn’t going to be The Don that did them in. Burke was the one who’d compromised their operation.
And now they would both die a horrible death.
He wasn’t sure exactly what he’d done. What slip he’d made. Burke only knew they’d come for him as he left the bed of a woman who had provided him with a plethora of information, so much that their network had grown swiftly and been strengthened by the intelligence, allowing them to ready a way into Portugal. Now, he questioned whether that information had been false. He didn’t think so. Everything he’d sent back to Reid, all through personal exchanges on a sporadic basis, had seemed to pan out. Reid was good about letting Burke know how what he provided aided England’s fight against Bonaparte.
The woman that day had been fidgety. Fussing over him too much. Somewhat nervous. Totally unlike their previous encounters. He should have known then. Gotten out while he could. Still, he’d pushed aside his unease and made love to her, whispering the sweet nothings she longed for as he extracted what he needed from her. Then, as he was leaving under cover of darkness to reunite with Smythe, he’d been taken.
And brought to this place of horror.
He heard Smythe’s scream again. High. Piercing. Animal-like in nature. Burke wondered how much more the lieutenant could take. His comrade was already present, being savagely beaten when Burke had been dragged in. He wondered where The Don had been when he was captured and how he’d been seized. Guilt flooded Burke, knowing he had been the one responsible for putting them in this situation. One which they’d never escape.
The savages had worked on them both over several days, trying to draw out exactly who they were and what they’d been doing in the area.
They’d spent more time torturing Smythe, though, thinking him the weak link. The man was proving otherwise. No matter what they did to him. No matter how much he howled in pain. His fellow spy was proving he would not break.
The shorter and more sadistic of the pair came toward Burke again, the cat-o’-nine-tails in his hand. Already, Burke had been whipped multiple times, his back shredded. They’d also shattered the bones in every finger on his right hand. The fingers stuck out at odd angles as he hung from his wrists.
“You tell me,” the man said, toying with the whip. “Now. Or you suffer more.”
Burke had bantered at the beginning, using humor and sarcasm, most of which went over the Frenchman’s head. His grasp of English was limited.
Now, he only stared into his captor’s black eyes and remained silent.
The man walked behind him and Burke tried not to stiffen. The lashes hurt even more when he did but it was hard not to tighten his muscles when he knew the blows were coming.
Three more strokes with the whip and he collapsed, hanging from his bound wrists. The two men had him strung where his feet barely brushed the ground. It caused his skin to stretch taut and inflicted more damage. His back felt on fire after so many blows had rained down upon him. Burke fought to keep from passing out, knowing the bastards would only increase the torture to bring him back to consciousness.
The Don screamed again in agony. This time, it went on and on and his cries grew more hoarse and faint. Burke knew in his heart that his friend would never talk.
He would only die. Soon. At least Burke hoped so, for The Don’s sake.
They’d spent eight months together, an uneasy alliance at first. The two men were very different but Burke found The Don had a wicked sense of humor that matched Burke’s own. He was well read and knew something about any topic Burke could name. Over time, as they worked together, they had grown civil toward one another and then slipped into friendship.
Now, they were bonded with blood.
Burke turned his head slightly so he could see Smythe. The sight horrified him.
