Raina conceded and let him draw her arm through his, as they made their way along the hallway. Still lost in her thoughts of her time with Charles, she did not realize that they had stopped at her bedroom door. When she glanced up, it was to see the Duke regarding her with patience and a kind smile.
He reached out and patted her hand.
“All will be well my dear,” he said as he opened the door and gently guided her into the room.
Raina watched as he closed the door. As she looked at her hands, she realized that they were bare. She had forgotten her gloves.
In her hurry to find out what had happened with Charles, she had not completed her disguise. Gripping her fingers together, she tightened her hold at her incompetency. Releasing them she slid one hand over the other, her fingers gliding over her hands as she wrung them in fear. Her heart was racing with the knowledge that Charles’s father had figured out who she was. She knew that he knew. His comment revealed that he saw right through her.
Panicking Raina paced back and forth across the carpet. She needed to get out of here. She had never felt so trapped. Part of her wanted to remain here, near Charles. The other part realized her cover was blown and she had to flee before she was caught. But she had nowhere to go. This was her final act of revenge to stop Shears. If she left London, she would never have this chance again.
She sat on her bed defeated, she would not be able to learn the progress of Charles’s recovery. Closing her eyes, she pictured him lying on his bed in pain. His body beaten and bruised. She could still hear his deep shallow breaths as he tried to bring fresh air into his lungs. Raina knew he would recover, he always did. This time she could not nurse him back to health. That hurt the most. Even though it was not her place to give him care; it did not stop her from longing to be his caregiver.
However, she could as Mrs. Whitlow. His father did not call her out. He saw through her deception but did not draw others to her attention. If he had wanted her gone, she would have been thrown out by the footman standing guard in the hallway. Instead he had walked her to her door and patted her hand in condolence. When it was she who should have been consoling him.
Raina rose from the bed and began her pacing again, but this time it was to think. A plan was beginning to form and take fruition. It was brilliant, it might actually work. Now all she had to do was hope that the Duke would not expose her before she could complete her task.
Chapter Seven
CHARLES AWOKE, FEELING A sense of déjà vu. Wincing as he pulled himself up, resting his back against the headboard of the bed. Leaning his head back he closed his eyes as his hand massaged his side. He rubbed his sore muscles and reflected on how he ended up this way again. Charles shook his head as he realized he only had himself to blame.
He was the one that kept putting himself in these predicaments. That and trusting the wrong people. He lowered his guard twice within the last couple of weeks. Which made him lucky to be alive, he might hurt like hell, but at least he was still breathing.
Swinging his legs over the edge of the bed, he attempted to rise. As he stood, a wave of dizziness caught him unaware. He fought the weakness and came to his feet, walking a few inches over to the chair, he sunk into the cushion.
Charles leaned his head back, closed his eyes, and took a deep breath. His sides ached. Shears’s men sure knew how to pack a punch. Damn Maxwell. If he wasn’t so caught up in arguing with him, he could have been more aware of his surroundings. But Maxwell distracted him with the one thought he wouldn’t keep his mind on their location. Did he count on that? Is that why he was distracting me? Was it a setup?
I cannot believe it to be true, but was it? Was Maxwell in so deep with Shears, he could no longer be trustworthy? No, it was an act, wasn’t it? He tried to help me escape from their clutches. If it wasn’t for Maxwell, he would be dead in the woods. I must continue to believe he would act right in the end. I am the only one who does.
Which leaves him with his other problem. She was consuming his every thought. Not only when he was awake, but in his dreams. Last night had seemed so real too. He could taste the sweet honey on her lips as they kissed. The touch of her in his arms as she melted into their kiss. He even dreamt that she caressed his injuries as if her touch could heal them.
Which was impossible, she wasn’t anywhere near here. She couldn’t be crazy enough to step a foot in this household. She had to realize Thorn did not trust her after what she pulled. But Ivy would let her in, she knew what Raina meant to him. Was she real and not a dream?
Impossible, he had to get a grip on reality. Raina LeClair was a mystery to him, one he was beginning to believe he would never solve. He was feeling the excitement of the unknown. When in reality, she was of questionable character. Things did not look well upon her.
First, she kidnapped him and held him captive. Second, she worked for Shears. Even though now she was destroying him. And third and foremost, she was a spy always in disguise that messed with his emotions. Emotions that were clouding his judgement. Emotions he needed to get in check before his family got hurt. They had been through enough already. It was time for him to finish his mission. Then and only then he could pursue his feelings for her. But for now, he needed to focus. Focus on ending Shears and his backers.
Shifting in the chair to ease the pain in his side, his hand became tangled in a soft piece of fabric. Pulling it out from underneath him, he noticed it to be a woman’s shawl. It must be one of Ivy’s old shawls. The material was faded in color. At one time it was a vibrant blue, now only pale in comparison. The wrap was mended many times. Why his sister was keeping such an old and worn out shawl, was beyond him. It must hold sentimental value to her. He had to make sure that a maid returned it to her room. If it held special meaning to her, he had no wish for it to be discarded.
As he raised the shawl to put on the side table, he caught the scent from it. It was not his sister’s usual perfume; it was much heavier, but sweet at the same time. He brought the shawl up to his nose and breathed in the fragrance. The scent reminded him of something. He had smelt it before, but he could not place it. He shut his eyes and sniffed the perfume again. Charles tried to picture where and when he had detected the aroma.
That was when he was caught. Ivy decided at that moment to walk into his room, unannounced as usual for her.
“What are you doing Brother dear?” Ivy asked.
“Nothing,” Charles said pulling the wrap back onto his lap.
“That is not what I saw. It looks as if your smelling something.”
“Just catching a whiff of your old shawl. It is not your usual scent dear Sister.”
“The shawl does not belong to me. You are sniffing dear Mrs. Whitlow’s shawl. The horror if she was to walk into your bedroom. Can you imagine her embarrassment?” Ivy teased him.
“Well I am sure your dear Mrs. Whitlow has enough manners to knock first, unlike someone else I know.”
“I see you are recovering nicely and to think of the tears I shed for you last evening.”
Charles felt guilty for putting Ivy through more worry. Especially in her condition. He was acting like an ass to her.
“I am sorry sister for being such a bore. Please forgive me,” he begged.
“It is fine Charles, I realize you have much on your mind. I am glad you are well. You had us worried last night.”
“As you can see I am no worse for wear. How are you my dear?”
Ivy laughed as her palm caressed her stomach, “How do I look? I am as huge as an elephant.”
“My adorable elephant,” Thorn said from behind her, putting his hand over hers and pulling her back up against him.
Charles watched the affections of his best friend and sister. For two individuals that kept their feelings from each other for so long, it was comforting to watch their love for one another. He wanted that in his own life.
Thorn settled Ivy into the chair next to Charles. He walked over to the windows and opened the shades and crac
ked a window. The crisp morning air sent a chill through the room.
“We are being watched my friend,” Thorn told Charles.
“Do you recognize by whom?”
“I was hoping you could tell me. I have never seen these blokes.”
“Shears has himself a whole new crew since you threw the rest of his outcast in Newgate.”
“These men are not with Shears. They are too polished and professional,” Thorn explained.
Charles rose from the chair and made his way to the windows. Opening the window wider, he leaned out, pretending to take a deep breath of fresh air. He noticed the two chaps watching the house, blending into the scene on the street. To any other observer they were two gentlemen taking a stroll along Mayfair. But in truth they were hired killers.
He understood coming to London would be dangerous. There was a price on his head. Those connected to Shears wanted him dead. Charles knew too much. He should never have come back here. He put Ivy in direct contact with danger, but he had to come here. Charles sensed Raina was here and who the next person on her list was, for it was the next name on his list too. He had to convince Ivy to leave London.
“You need to take Ivy back to Margate,” Charles told Thorn.
Thorn nodded his head, “I have made arrangements.”
“How soon?”
“Tomorrow at the latest.”
“Please come with us Charles,” Ivy begged.
“I cannot leave, but I will follow soon.”
“Will you promise me you will be safe?”
“As safe as I can be,” Charles promised.
Ivy struggled out of the chair when Charles helped her to her feet. As he pulled her up, he wrapped his arms around her and gave her a hug.
“Did you find her?” Ivy whispered.
Charles shook his head no to her unanswered questions. Ivy squeezed him in her understanding of his heartache.
“Well I will finish packing and work on getting Tommy to pack his toys.” Ivy turned to leave the room. When she walked back to pick up Abigail’s shawl.
“I will return this to Mrs. Whitlow before she finds you sniffing her belongings again.”
“Who is this elusive Mrs. Whitlow and why was her shawl in my room?” Charles asked.
“She is the wonderful companion we employed to help me with Tommy’s care. Abigail sat with you last night after I retired,” Ivy explained as she left the bedroom.
“Sniffing the hired help’s clothes?” Thorn inquired with a smirk.
Charles rolled his eyes. He was not going to enlighten his friend, best friend or not. How could he even explain it? It made him appear delusional and they would question if he got hit harder on the head than they thought.
“Do you want me to take care of your shadows?”
“Don’t bother, only more will emerge. Just get Ivy out of town, then I can handle them. They won’t harm anybody until I show my face. I’m sure he has thugs at every one of my old haunts.”
“Jake says Maxwell is behind this latest incident.”
Charles shook his head in denial.
“Still protecting him, are you? He will get you killed.”
“Maxwell saved my life. He was not involved with the attack.”
“He is not to be trusted.”
“It is complicated Thorn. But you know in the end he can be trusted.”
“Why do you keep standing up for him? After everything he has put you through.”
“Because in the end he is my friend. Through all the smoke and mirrors, at the end of this war he will still be my friend. He is your friend too. We have been through too much not to see this through to the end. He may appear as the enemy, but you know what he is and who he is. Our friend.” Charles tried to explain to Thorn.
“I hope you are right.”
Chapter Eight
THE HOUSE WAS BUSY packing up the belongings to take to Margate. It was in an uproar because of the speed in which they must leave town. Every maid and footman were busy packing and loading up the carriages.
Charles listened while Ivy gave directions left and right. If anyone could pack in a hurry, it was her. He observed as everybody scurried to do her bidding. They did not hurry out of fear, but because they respected her. Ivy always treated the hired help with kind words and interest. She knew every one of them on a first name basis and all about their families. How she was able to keep everything straight was beyond him.
Charles wandered down the hall towards Tommy’s room. He spent few moments with his new nephew and figured this would be a good time; while he was healing and hiding from Shears.
As he came upon the room, he saw an older woman reading to Tommy, this must be Mrs. Whitlow. She was precisely as he pictured, an old woman. She was padded in the middle, obviously from eating too many biscuits with her tea. Dark gray hair pulled back tight in a bun, with wrinkles outlining her face. She was a typical lady’s companion slash governess.
Charles leaned against the doorjamb listening to the story as she read. Her soft voice melodic to his ears. He was drawn in to the voices of her characters. She would change the tone of her voice for each one. Each one coming alive on the pages as she told their story. So, wrapped up in listening to her, he was surprised when Ivy spoke from behind him.
“First you are sniffing her clothing, now you are looking all moony eye over her. Are you sure you are feeling better Charles? Maybe I should call the doctor and have him check your head for more injuries. You do know that she is old enough to be our grandmother,” Ivy whispered in a stage voice to him.
Charles glared over his shoulder at his sister, but she brushed past him on into the room. As she walked over to Tommy, she ruffled his hair and spoke softly to Mrs. Whitlow.
Mrs. Whitlow looked up at Ivy’s words and closed the book. Charles noticed her hands were shaking as she tried to lay the book on the table, but the book slipped and fell to the floor. Bending over she picked up the hardcover and laid it on the table. She smoothed her hand against her skirts and nodded to Ivy.
Ivy handed out a letter to her and Mrs. Whitlow slid it inside the front pocket of her dress.
“Charles, let me introduce you to our Mrs. Whitlow. She has been such a help to us,” Ivy introduced her.
“Mrs. Whitlow, my brother Charles Mallory.”
Mrs. Whitlow dropped into a curtsey, “It is a pleasure meeting you My Lord. I heard much about you from the Thornhills and Tommy.”
When she rose from her curtsey, Charles grabbed her hand and placed a kiss upon her glove.
“The pleasure is all mine, madam. I want to express my extreme gratitude for sitting by my side last night. I was not myself and for that I apologize.” Charles tried to charm her.
Her hand shook inside his grasp. His mention of last night caught her unaware. She raised her eyes up to his, panicking he knew who she was. Her body relaxed when she noticed he was a gentleman being gracious to somebody he was meeting for the first time. Lost in his smile she was caught off guard when he was trying to pull his hand away. She had somehow tightened her grip on his hand. Dropping her hand, she backed away and gathered her things.
“I will take care of that errand for you Lady Thornhill.”
“Thank you, Abigail. We will see you at dinner.” Ivy dismissed her.
Abigail dropped into a curtsey then exited the room. Charles watched her go, puzzled by their exchange. Something about her did not seem right. When she returns, I might try to have a few private words with her. Anybody new in their life was under suspicion as far as he was concerned. It could do no harm to find out whose side she was aiding.
“How long has Mrs. Whitlow worked for you?” Charles asked Ivy.
“For almost a week now. She has been a godsend. Why do you ask?”
“Just curious my dear,” Charles remarked casually. He did not want Ivy to be aware of his suspicions.
“Curious about what?”
“Nothing. So, Tommy I hear you have quite a battlefield set up
in here. Why don’t you show me how you plan to battle?” Charles asked Tommy to distract him from Ivy’s nosiness.
“It is right over here Uncle Charles.” Tommy led Charles over to the battlefield and explained the pieces to him.
Charles smiled indulgently at the young lad, caught up in his excitement. He remembered playing like him when he was a child. His battlefields also took up half the nursery.
Tommy told him a story that Mrs. Whitlow was telling him. Charles listened at the tall tale, enthralled with the danger of the story. That Mrs. Whitlow seemed to be quite the story teller. I guess a woman in her position, an imagination comes in handy.
“The spy is following her, so she tricks him with her disguise. Giving him a sleeping potion, he falls asleep as she makes her escape. Then the heroine rides off on her horse after she sets the evil pirate’s warehouse on fire. Mrs. Whitlow promises to tell me more of the story tonight.” Tommy finished with his tale.
Charles started putting the pieces together as he listened to Tommy’s story. It could not be, but it was. It was staring him in the face the entire time.
The dream from last night was real. The shawl, it had her smell. Her voice as she read Tommy a story, was the voice that got him through his kidnapping last year. Her hand as he held it in his moments ago, had shook. It was her. Damn she fooled him again.
“Where did she go Ivy?” Charles demanded.
“Mrs. Whitlow?”
“Yes, Mrs. Whitlow, since that is what she is calling herself now.”
“Well what else would she call herself? What is the matter Charles?”
“She would call herself Raina LeClair, if she was herself and not running around in disguises all the time.”
“Mrs. Whitlow is Raina? That is impossible.”
“It is possible, and I need to find her right away, she is in danger. Now where did you send her?”
“I sent her to drop off a letter to the Blackstone’s. I was apologizing for leaving their dinner party early last evening because of you.”
Rescued By the Spy Page 6
