by Henke, Shirl
She clutched the clothing in front of her body while he stood completely naked in front of her. The only difference was that he remained calmly unconcerned about his nudity as he began picking up her remaining clothing and adding it to the growing pile in her arms. The night's rest had obviously done him a world of good. The pallor and weakness appeared to be gone as he moved gracefully around the room. Her eyes were drawn to the muscles rippling across his broad back, the way his long legs bent with clean economy as he knelt to pick up her slippers and then stood again.
“Here you go, Cinderella,” he said with a lopsided grin, placing the slippers on top of the teetering mound.
He knew he was a beautiful specimen, confound the man. She could not keep her eyes averted to save her life. “Cinderella is a good appellation, since it's past midnight and my magic wanes with daylight,” she managed.
“You haven't turned into a pumpkin. Far as I can see, you look even better in daylight.” His eyes swept from her tousled hair down to her trim ankles and dainty little bare feet.
“You know perfectly well it wasn't the girl but the coach that turned into a pumpkin,” she retorted with some sass.
“Yep, but I didn't expect you to turn into a mouse like the footmen in the story.”
“I do not lack for courage, Josh, but I must leave before your uncle comes upstairs after you. I doubt you can fob him off as easily as you did your valet. That does not make me into a ‘mouse’!” Now, how the devil was she going to cross to her room without affording him a full view of her bare backside?
As if reading her mind, Josh reached over and tucked the skirt around her fanny, managing to caress a rounded cheek as he did so. “Just trying to help a lady,” he said with an innocent wink.
Sabrina exited and closed the door behind her with as much dignity as she could muster, which was not a great deal considering how red her face was...and how her derriere tingled from his touch.
* * * *
When Josh entered his uncle's office, the old man was seated behind his desk, sorting through a sheaf of documents. He looked up at his nephew with a very serious expression on his face. In fact, Josh would have said the old man had aged another decade overnight. “You look like a fellow who's been on a nine-day bender. What's wrong, Uncle Ab?”
“Thank you for the compliment, my boy,” the old man said dryly as he waved Josh into a chair. “The elderly are ever so grateful just to be reminded that they still breathe. You, being a young and disgustingly resilient Anglo-American, appear little the worse for your encounter with a bullet yesterday.”
“I've been shot at a time or two during the war in Cuba, but there I knew who the enemy was,” Josh replied, wondering when the old man was going to ask him why he'd been shot. He leaned back like a good poker player, which he was, and waited for the earl to lay out his cards.
Hambleton sighed. “All right. I might as well explain the whole of this tangle, although I'd hoped, for your own protection, that it wouldn't prove necessary.”
“You work for the Foreign Office.” It was not a question. “I think you'd better level with me, Uncle Ab. I suppose you know the colonel—President Roosevelt—asked me to look into this mess for him?”
“Yes, I did. In fact, it was I who recommended to Salisbury that he request help from your old comrade in arms. Short of crossing the Atlantic myself, it was the only way I could be assured you'd accept your position as my heir. The situation here obviously precluded such a voyage on my part, and I must admit you are admirably suited for the task at hand,” Hambleton added with a touch of pride in his voice.
Josh studied the crafty old man. A grudging grin spread over his face as he replied, “I reckon we have even more in common than I first thought. You did just what I'd do in your position. But, speaking of your position, just what the hell is it you do for Salisbury and Lansdowne?”
“I've been an advisor to His Majesty's government on matters of espionage for most of my life. No one outside the Prime Minister and the Foreign Secretary have ever been apprised of that,” the earl replied.
“Until someone started trying to kill the Japanese minister and you figured they were getting their information through you somehow?”
The old man nodded. “Very astute. At first we assumed it was Albany's son, which was correct. He was a pawn used by his mistress, but when we saw to it that he could no longer access the negotiations with the Japanese, the Russians still had a source of highly secret information that led to near disaster. Yesterday's fiasco proved that. Whoever is behind this fell into our trap because of what was learned from here,” the earl said angrily.
“I wondered why Michael was so close-mouthed about how they'd laid the trap for Whistledown,” Josh said. “Hell, he wouldn't even have told me about it if I hadn't agreed to spell him in following the kid. I gather there's no doubt he's guilty. What did the Russian we captured yesterday say about it?”
“That is part of the conundrum. You see, the villain was killed before he could talk. Our agents had taken him to a location known only to the Foreign Secretary, Michael Jamison and me. Somehow, one of their agents slipped in and slit the throat of his fellow conspirator, then escaped.”
“And there's no way in hell they could've known where to look for him unless they got the information from here?” At the earl's grim nod, Josh continued, “Then it has to be Whistledown. I watched him pay off some bully boys at the track on Monday, and he owes them more.”
“Michael Jamison informed me about the lad's gambling and its possibly treasonous results. Regrettable, most regrettable,” the earl said.
“You don't keep secret information lying around, I know. How did the dumb kid find out where the prisoner was being taken?”
“That is what I have been pondering. It's possible he overheard my discussion with Mr. Jamison after you'd been taken upstairs. He was here, and the household was in such an uproar over your being shot that no one, alas, including me, was as alert as we should have been.”
Josh pictured Sabrina's reaction when this all came out. Damn the fool boy for his stupidity! “Are you going to arrest him now or wait?”
Outside the door, Sabrina held her breath, anticipating the earl's reply. How could Josh have used her so shamefully? And poor, foolish Edmund would pay for all their sins. When she heard the earl say that he had sent for the no-longer-mysterious Mr. Jamison to take Edmund into custody, she slipped away, biting her lip in anguish. Somehow she had to get Eddy away before he was apprehended. Then the two of them would prove he was merely a cat's-paw, not a traitor.
At least that was what she prayed they could do.
As to the pain of Josh's betrayal, she would not consider it until her cousin was safe. Maybe by that time it would not hurt so badly. But she doubted that her heart would ever stop aching.
* * * *
“Crikey, Sabrina, they have to believe me! I didn't—”
“Will you be quiet and come with me before it's too late,” she hissed, practically dragging the boy toward the servants' entrance. “Now you will go straightaway to the Berkshires. Mama and Papa can hide you until this whole disaster is sorted out. I've scraped together enough money for train fare, but we'd best hurry,” she continued as they slipped unobserved from the house and down the alley behind the mews.
In the hansom to the railway station, Sabrina quizzed the white-faced Edmund about how he'd been drawn into the conspiracy, beginning with his “friend” from the racecourses whose name he still could not recall, if he'd ever known it.
“They were using you from the start, drawing you into betting by offering false information about winning horses. I can see that now,” she said thoughtfully.
Edmund sat glumly silent as she skewered him with a penetrating blue gaze. “How much more do you owe those racetrack ruffians?”
He swallowed in misery, his Adam's apple bobbing. “I don't owe much more,” he whispered hoarsely, struggling hard to keep tears at bay.
“Perhaps it's good that you'r
e still in debt.”
“Why?” he cried.
“The Russians don't know you've been compromised yet, only that you still need money. Perhaps if I act quickly, I can find out who has been stealing the information. I believe I can identify the Russian I saw with you in the park. The lot of them live at the Metropole Hotel, if the newspapers are to be believed.”
“Oh, Coz, I can't have you going off to spy on Russians by yourself. That's far too dangerous. I'll go with you.” Before she could refuse, he pressed on, “I'd recognize the chap anywhere. You only saw him from a distance one time. You'll need my help...just as I need yours,” he finished, red-faced.
Sabrina considered that as they drew near their destination. Perhaps Eddy was right. She'd had only a passing glance at the tall, dark-haired man, while her cousin had met him on numerous occasions and could spot him in a crowded place like the Metropole. “Very well, you shall come with me, only long enough to point him out. Then it's off to the Berkshires with you before you vanish into some secret place about which only the Foreign Office knows.”
Edmund's Adam's apple quivered again, this time not with shame but with terror.
Chapter Fifteen
When their hansom pulled up in front of the Metropole, neither Sabrina nor Edmund saw Josh observe them alight and pay the driver. He sat in the shadows, leaning back against the squabs of the cab he'd flagged down to follow them. He was numb with shock. Edmund he would have expected to run, but not Sabrina. She simply could not be involved in this whole ugly business.
Then what the hell is she doing here, walking calmly into a nest of Russian assassins, if she hasn't been hired by them? a persistent voice whispered. Having no answers, he combed his fingers through his hair in confusion and despair.
It entered his mind that he'd never asked his uncle about why he'd selected Sabrina to tutor him. Was it because her cousin was already in his employ? Or did he and his Foreign Office associates already suspect Whistledown's involvement and want to use her to get to him? Or was she a British agent herself? Figuring all this out was as twisty and rough as riding a sunfishing bronc. Just thinking about it made Josh's head ache...
But not nearly so much as his heart.
Reluctantly he climbed out of the coach and followed them into the hotel lobby.
* * * *
“Do you see him?” Sabrina asked her cousin as they stood beneath the shelter of an enormous potted palm. Edmund peered around it, his eyes scanning the ladies and gentlemen strolling across the lobby in route to breakfast.
“No. Maybe he sleeps late,” he offered.
“From what I've read of the Russian aristocracy, they stay up all night and sleep all day, like vampires.” She chastised herself for not having thought of that before. She and Edmund might cool their heels here until sundown before that man appeared...unless. “Perhaps what we need to do is infiltrate.”
Edmund looked uneasily at his normally sensible cousin, not liking the sound of her proposal. “Infiltrate what?” he asked in a squeaky voice.
Sabrina bit her lip as her gaze skittered around the cavernous lobby and into the airy lounge adjoining it. “You stay here and keep watch on that doorway.” She pointed across the lobby to a door from which a bellman had just emerged, resplendent in maroon and green livery.
“Crikey, why?” Edmund's eyes bulged out more than his Adam's apple as he swallowed nervously. He definitely did not like this.
“I'll signal you when the way is clear. Wait here until I return.”
He nodded unhappily as she strolled across the foyer and down the hall to the door from which she'd seen the bellman emerge. She opened the door and disappeared behind it. Servants could pass unnoticed through a building. If this hotel operated like the one where her spinster aunt Hannah worked, it would facilitate the plan formulating in her desperate mind.
It did.
After slipping down the narrow, uncarpeted hallway, trying each door along the way, she netted her loot—two uniforms, a maid's costume for her and a bellman's for Edmund. So thoughtful of the establishment to clean and press a range of sizes in this sewing room, where rips were mended and stains removed from the expensive livery. Bless Aunt Hannah, who had been the best seamstress in the Berkshires before she came to London to earn her way.
Sabrina quickly changed into the maid's uniform and returned to the lobby. She signaled to Edmund, and groaned inwardly as he furtively darted toward her. If only no one saw him.
Someone did.
Josh stood behind a wide pillar, watching the scene play out with mounting confusion. What the hell was going on? Now Sabrina had on a chambermaid's uniform and she had ducked behind a door with Edmund. Josh's conscience warred within him. He should grab Whistledown by the scruff of his scrawny neck and haul him back to the earl, but that would mean dragging Sabrina along. Somehow, he just couldn't do it.
Not if there was a chance she was innocent. He wanted to believe that—needed desperately to believe it, like he had believed while growing up at Gertie's that one day he'd be a man of property. If Sabrina and her cousin were involved with the Russians, why all this ruse? They would just walk up to Zarenko's room and transact their business. No, there had to be another explanation. Josh intended to find out what it was before he took the cousins into custody.
When he attempted to enter the door they'd used, a bellman stopped him, explaining deferentially that this way led to the servants' stairs. Returning to the lobby, he bribed a clerk to give him Zarenko's suite number.
Josh knew the cousins had no money to offer bribes for information, even if they knew Zarenko's name. Then he went up to the second floor and hid in the alcove near Zarenko's suite. It wasn't long before he heard Sabrina's precise yet soft voice around the corner. He ducked behind a fern as they passed the intersecting corridor, then followed them.
How would they locate the Russian? Sabrina stopped a young maid carrying a scrub bucket and inquired which floors the Russians occupied.
“Why, the lot of 'em stays right ‘ere on the second,” she said, giving Sabrina a curious look. “Say, I never seen you afore,” the girl added suspiciously, squinting at Edmund, who shuffled nervously behind Sabrina.
Josh was amazed when Whistledown, now in a bellman's uniform, seized the maid's work-reddened hand and kissed it. “We be new. This 'ere's our first day.”
He went on spinning a charming tale in an improbable cockney accent that quickly had the maid giggling, her face as red as her hands. A surprisingly slick dude, Sabrina's beloved young cousin, Josh thought, wondering if Edmund was good enough to have fooled Sabrina as easily as he did the scrub girl. Somehow he doubted it. He waited to see what they would do once the maid departed, buckets sloshing as she rounded the corner.
At the rate Sabrina and Edmund were going, the Japanese minister would be cold in his grave before they found their quarry. They knocked on the doors of the first four suites, all occupied by women. With a grimace of amusement, Josh imagined La Samsonov's fury if she had been awakened by a pair of mere servants. He had to give Sabrina credit for ingenuity. The prim “chambermaid” asked to speak with the guest about a complaint from the suite above them. Too much noise late last night. Whistledown stood officiously beside her, as if offering his dubious protection.
Finally, the seventh try brought them to Zarenko's suite. His servant, who spoke virtually no English, attempted to explain that his master had not yet arisen, but the more he insisted in a polyglot of French and Russian that he would not disturb Zarenko, the louder Sabrina and Edmund's voices grew.
At length, a cursing, reeling Zarenko, still in his cups from an all-night debauch, appeared at the door, threatening to take maid, bellman and his own valet and bash in their skulls if they were not silent at once. Josh noted the way Edmund carefully averted his face, hanging his head down to conceal his identity. Drunk as the Russian still was, Josh doubted that Nikolai would have recognized his own sister Natasha, much less a nonentity such as Whistledown.
A great flood of relief washed over Josh as he listened to them make their excuses and begin a whispering conversation as soon as the door slammed shut in their faces.
“That's him, Coz!”
“Yes, he does look like the fellow I saw with you in the park that day, although I doubt I'd have been certain without your confirmation. However, it is now time for you to take the train home and wait until I can straighten out this tangle.”
“This might be dangerous, and it's all my fault. I'm not leaving you,” Edmund said manfully.
“Don't be even more foolish than you've already been, Eddy. If you are arrested, they'll likely arrest me, too, for being with you. And then where shall either of us be?”
“B-but what can you do?”
“I shall wait for that odious drunkard to leave his quarters. Given his condition, I imagine I'll have time aplenty to change my clothing, eat a hearty luncheon and take a nap first,” she replied crisply. “Then I'll follow him and learn who the other conspirators are and what they are doing with whatever information you gave them.”
“I don't—”
His protest was cut short as they made their way toward the end of the hall and a hatchet-faced man in bell captain's livery stalked toward them, calling out, “I say, what are you about? Lollygagging while there's work to be done. You—” he jabbed a finger into Edmund's chest—“see to transporting Lady Landenham's portmanteau downstairs. It must weigh at least five stone. Harry cannot manage it without assistance. She's in 314. Get on it now,” he added impatiently when the young “bellman” hesitated.
“And you,” he said, turning to Sabrina when Edmund had moved off toward the servants' stairs, “you're needed to clean up the mess in the suite at the end of the hall. One of Madame Samsonov's servants requested assistance.”
“Assistance?” Sabrina echoed dubiously as her mind raced to find a way out of this tangle.
The cadaverous man towered over her as an expression of thunderous disapproval slashed across his downturned mouth. His breath reeked from rotten teeth. He spoke as if to a half-wit child, saying, “The lady was indisposed from overindulgence. The noisome mess will ruin a perfectly good Turkish carpet if it is not scooped up and scrubbed off immediately. Then there's the matter of the bed linens, as well,” he added with a sniff of disapproval. “Damned Russians.”
