by Regina Scott
* * * *
If Joanna had a difficult afternoon, Allister’s was far worse.
“That’s the lot of them, my friend,” Harold Petersborough, Marquis of Hastings, informed him as they sat in his spacious private suite at the War Office. “Every assassin, spy, or miscreant you ever went after is either in prison or dead, except one.”
“Daremier,” Allister spat.
“Daremier,” Lord Hastings agreed. “A slippery fellow, that one. We still haven’t learned how he manages to return to England undetected. One would think that face of his would give him away.”
Allister glanced down at Lord Hastings’ claw-footed desk, on which lay the charcoal sketch that was all most of his lordship’s operatives had to go on. He didn’t need it. He’d seen the face too often, right before losing it again. France’s top spy was called the Skull for good reason. Deep-set nearly black eyes looked out over prominent cheekbones and a hooked nose. Coupled with a bald pate and a cruel mouth, the face was one to give nightmares. It was also one easily disguised. That was one of the reasons Daremier was difficult to catch. The other was that he was cunningly ruthless. Nothing and no one stood in the way of his target. If the Skull had sent the note, Joanna was in danger.
“Do you think he’ll hurt her?” Allister asked with a mouth gone suddenly dry.
“Your bride-to-be?” Hastings returned, stroking his walrus mustache. “Doubtful. He generally hasn’t gone for revenge. The dastard’s too busy with his next operation.”
Allister glanced at his former supervisor. Hastings had been a senior agent at the time he had recruited Allister and Davis ten years ago. The offer had been made in this very office, as Allister stood on the same thick blue carpet, gazing across the heavy desk at the man behind it. Hastings had been trim and wiry then, an intense light burning behind his deep-set brown eyes. Now his thick short-cropped hair was a solid iron gray, as was his mustache. Lines etched his eyes and mobile mouth. The only thing that hadn’t changed was his energy. Hastings was efficient to a fault. Allister had never before had cause to question him. He felt a little guilty doing so now, but he had to know the worst of it.
“Do we know where Daremier is?” he pressed, unwilling to accept an easy solution to the problem of the note. He’d followed the Skull too long; there were too many grudges, on both sides. “Has he been sighted in England?”
“Not recently,” Hastings confirmed. “But that means nothing. We seldom know where the fellow is going to strike until he’s gone and struck.”
Allister’s eyes narrowed. “True. So, instead of trying to find him, why don’t we get him to come to us?”
“A trap?” Hastings shrugged in his well-fitted blue coat. “We’ve tried before. He wasn’t interested in those counterfeit battle plans we hid so well. Lady de Renard wouldn’t let us use the Sebastien diamonds.”
“Ah,” Allister said, “but we have something he wants far more than Wellington’s battle plans or the biggest diamonds in France.”
Hastings frowned. “What?”
Allister smiled tightly. “Me.”
Hastings’ frown deepened, and he eyed Allister thoughtfully. “You love her that much, do you?”
Allister paused. Only the previous day he had been thinking his love was not deep enough for a true marriage. Even now, he could not deny that his reasons for wanting to catch the French spy had just as much to do with their long history as his devotion to Joanna.
Hastings obviously took his silence for agreement. “He won’t spare you if you go in unarmed,” he warned. “We may catch him, but we’d certainly lose you. I can’t take that chance with your life. Let’s give the lads a few more days. We don’t even know he’s in England.”
“Someone sent that note,” Allister reminded him. “And I won’t rest until he’s uncovered and stopped.”
He was soon to know the truth of that statement. He had always been a light sleeper, a fact that had saved his life more than once. Yet, despite his sometimes dangerous circumstances, he had never had nightmares. Dreams, certainly, but nothing that made him wake up at all concerned. It was as if his mind knew, even asleep, that he had done the best he could.
That night was horrifying. In dream after dream he tried for something he could not attain. Once it was Davis who had fallen out the smuggler’s boat they used to cross to France. He watched, helpless, as his friend was swept away by an angry sea. Another time it was his father and mother, who had died of the influenza when he was in college. In the dream they stood behind bars and pleaded with him to release them. But the worst dream involved Joanna. In it, he saw the Skull holding her at knife-point and laughing as he plunged the dagger into her heart. The betrayal in her eyes haunted Allister even after he jerked awake, crying her name.
He barreled into the War Office the next day, ready to battle anyone who disagreed with his ideas about capturing the Skull. He was disappointed to find that Lord Hastings was out, and Davis was nowhere to be found. Frustrated, he poured over the reports of the last few encounters with Daremier, groaning aloud when he saw how easily the fellow evaded them. Why had he thought he could simply retire from all this? Even if he could have quelled the pounding of his pulse, he could not deny that Daremier had to be stopped.
If no one else would do it, it was up to him.
Chapter Four
As it turned out, Joanna didn’t have to worry about whether she would see Davis Laughton again. Dames announced him that afternoon as she and her mother were working on her trousseau in their sitting room. Her mother hastily bundled up the frilly lace underthings they had been stitching and hurried them from the sunny little room. That left Joanna with a few minutes alone with the man.
He bowed over her hand and seated himself on the edge of a nearby Chippendale, brown-coated elbows tight against the curving arms of the polished chair. She had not done more than glance at him when they had met in Allister’s flat. Now she considered him more carefully from her place on the primrose-patterned sofa, noting the youthful face and wiry body. He would be easy to take for a scholar or a young solicitor. But beneath the boyish exterior, she felt a confidence and tension that bespoke an older, more experienced man.
“Is everything all right with Allister?” she couldn’t help asking when he did no more than exchange pleasantries.
“Yes, he’s fine,” he assured her. “He asked me to stop by and check on you. I take it everything is fine here as well?”
So, that was his agenda. Allister was trying to determine whether she’d had any more contact with their mysterious note writer. “I have nothing to report,” she told him, smoothing down the skirts of her green-sprigged muslin gown.
He blinked as if surprised by her choice of words, then offered her a polite smile. “Lord Trevithan also wanted you to know that he may have to postpone your outing this evening.”
Disappointment shot through her, at both the situation and Allister. “I thought we had agreed that he would bring me bad news himself.”
He returned her gaze without squirming. “I did not say the event was canceled, only potentially postponed. I’m sure he didn’t see that as such terrible news.”
No, she thought, he probably didn’t. That is entirely the problem.
“Forgive my disappointment, Mr. Laughton,” she said aloud. “It is always sad to hear I shall be deprived of my betrothed’s company. Thank you for troubling yourself to deliver the message. As you are obviously a particular friend of Allister’s, I’m sure he would want me to invite you to the wedding. Where shall I have my mother address the invitation?”
His smile was pleasant, but it did not reach his eyes. “Don’t trouble yourself. Just give the invitation to Lord Trevithan, and I’m sure he’ll see that I receive it.”
A singular request, but she supposed it was reasonable, particularly if he were staying in a hotel with unreliable post service. “I’ll do that then,” she replied. “How is Allister today? I trust his search goes well?”
�
�Search, madam?” he asked innocently.
“For the writer of that note,” she explained, then she frowned. “That is what keeps Allister from my side, isn’t it?”
He pursed his lips, eyeing her. “May I speak frankly, Miss Lindby?”
“I wish someone would!” Joanna told him.
“Very well.” He inched forward in the chair and locked gazes with her. Joanna felt herself lean forward as well.
“I’m sure Lord Trevithan has told you that he works for the War Office. I work there as well. It can be a dangerous job, Miss Lindby, to us personally and, sadly, often to those we love. Lord Trevithan has made a number of enemies over the years. It is not surprising that one of them seeks to ruin his chance at happiness.”
Joanna swallowed. “Goodness! Is this person dangerous? Homicidal?”
He rose, and she rose with him. “One would certainly hope not. However, it is possible. Lord Trevithan will no doubt do everything in his power to protect you, but there is always the slightest of chances that he will fail. I thought you should be warned.”
“Yes, yes, of course,” Joanna mumbled, mind churning. Dark and dangerous was one thing. Deadly was quite another. What had her impetuous heart gotten her into? Was she in danger? Was her mother in danger? Would Allister be harmed trying to protect them?
Her thoughts must have been written on her face, for Davis took a step closer, dark eyes glittering.
“Under the circumstances, Miss Lindby,” he said, “I think Lord Trevithan would understand if you wanted to call off the wedding.”
Call off the wedding?
She stared at him. Perhaps some would have said that was the wisest course. She did not consider herself a particularly brave person. Surely if she called off the wedding she would be safe. She would not be a target if she were not connected with Allister. And she would not have to worry about whether she could keep his attention throughout their marriage. But to call off the wedding when even a homicidal madman saw that Allister cared for her enough to be concerned? To forego the excitement of his kiss, the joy of his presence in her life?
She shook her head. “No, Mr. Laughton,” she replied firmly. “I will not call off the wedding. I will be married, in June.”
* * * *
Allister was almost afraid to see Joanna that night, yet he longed to hold her in his arms and prove to himself that she was all right. After changing into his evening black and taking a quick dinner, he walked the short distance to Mayfair to meet her and her mother.
As bright as a bluebird in her sapphire silk evening gown, Lady Lindby fluttered in to join him in the sitting room after the butler had admitted him.
“Oh, Lord Trevithan,” she panted. “I’m so sorry to have to tell you this.”
Allister was on his feet instantly, heart hammering. “What? Is it Joanna? What’s happened?”
She stopped abruptly, blinking. “Why, nothing. I merely wished to apologize that she isn’t ready. She seemed to be under the impression that you weren’t coming.”
“Was there another note?” he asked tightly.
“No, no,” she assured him. “Although your friend was by, Mr. Laughton. I understand I should give his invitation to you. What was the earl’s name?”
“Adam Darby,” he said absently, reseating himself on the sofa as she took a chair across from him. Some part of him was pleased he’d followed her train of thought, but the rest of him was appalled by his behavior. His reaction to her innocent announcement had been as irrational as it was unnecessary. Joanna was surely safe in her own home. And Davis had checked on her. He did not need to worry.
And yet he couldn’t seem to stop. When he held out the black velvet cloak to cover her bare shoulders above an amethyst silk gown, he thought how easy it would be for Daremier to strangle that graceful neck. Each time the carriage hit a rut, he tensed, wondering whether the axle had been tampered with and whether the carriage would suddenly pitch into the pavement. As they alighted at the theatre, he scanned the crowd for faces and saw an enemy in each smiling countenance. During intermission, the pop of a cork from a bottle of champagne sent him flying in front of Joanna to protect her from the gunshot. Her mother looked startled, and Joanna politely suggested that she go see some friends in the opposite box. As soon as Lady Lindby left, Joanna turned to him.
“Is everything all right, Allister?” she asked. “You seem quite tense this evening.”
She would have been an asset to the profession with that cool demeanor. Any other woman would surely be questioning his sanity.
“Forgive me,” he replied. “I have a great deal on my mind.”
“So I’ve noticed,” she said. “My mother still needs a list from you of those you’d like to invite to the wedding.”
He nodded, glad to have something normal to discuss. “Certainly. I’ll drop it by tomorrow.”
“Did you learn anything about that note?” she asked as if they discussed threats to her happiness every day.
So much for being able to avoid the subject. He managed a tight smile though he found himself unable to meet her eyes for fear of the disappointment he would see there in his failure. “No. And I begin to think it is driving me mad.”
Her hand covered his. “Don’t let it drive a wedge between us. Can’t you see it’s what the villain wants?”
He brought his thumb up and rubbed the back of her hand, feeling the strength in those supple fingers. “All I see is that I may have put you in danger. I can’t let that happen.” He brought her hand up to his mouth and kissed it. He felt her shiver with pleasure.
“I see no reason to make a change in our lives for this,” she murmured. “The danger does not trouble me over much.”
Allister raised his head to meet her gaze, incredulous. “The danger doesn’t trouble you? How can that be?”
She shrugged. “Perhaps because it’s a part of who you are. I won’t deny that it is a bit discomposing, but I think I can manage. I may not understand what you did for the War Office, Allister, but I can see it had a strong hand in shaping your life. I can also see that you miss it.”
“You see a great deal,” he told her, trying to keep his tone light. After years of hiding his thoughts, it amazed him she could read him so easily. Perhaps it was time for him to retire after all.
“Yes, I think I do,” she replied. “Admit it, Allister. You miss the excitement of the chase.”
“I suppose I do,” he agreed. “My work has been central to my life for a long time. I will miss it, but I’m also tired of it. The days are long, Joanna, and the nights are empty. I think I will be content to sit at home and watch our children play at my feet.”
“Will you?” she asked, dark eyes gleaming in challenge. “That seems a vary narrow existence, my lord, for a man of your experiences.”
He could not argue with her on that score. Yet, feeling her beside him, he thought perhaps he could make it work.
“There is something to be said for narrow existences,” he told her. “They are predictable, safe. That is very appealing to me at the moment.”
“Yes,” she replied, returning her gaze to the stage as her mother rejoined them for the second act. “I can see how it might be appealing, for the moment.”
Chapter Five
Joanna paced her room that night, calling herself six times a fool. How could she have been so blind? She’d feared she wasn’t interesting enough for him. She had feared he didn’t love her. Now she knew the situation was far worse. It wasn’t so much he lacked in love but that he loved elsewhere. She had a rival, and she had no idea how to fight it.
She had heard of other women who had to fight for their husband’s attention. Race horses, gambling, pugilistic displays, any and all of those things had been known to turn a man’s head just as quickly as a lightskirt in front of Covent Garden. She had somehow thought that those wives were uninterested or unwilling to regain their places in their husbands’ affections. She never thought to see herself take second place.
She wouldn’t do so now without a fight.
But how to fight? He claimed to want to settle down, but she was certain his desire for peace and tranquility would not outlast the moment. She was just as certain that she was not interesting enough or beautiful enough to keep a man like Allister away from his other passion for long. What other weapons did she have?
The arrival of the mysterious note had given her a few days grace before Allister discovered how truly uninteresting she was. The origin of the note clearly had him baffled. It was claiming his attention, and he was not unhappy about that. Yet she had complete confidence that he would eventually solve the mystery. Ten years of dangerous work would surely have given him the instincts and knowledge for self-preservation, at the least. It would also have honed his skills for solving problems like this one. He was on the hunt, and he would catch the culprit. Then she would be left with nothing but her staid little life to recommend her.
If only she could keep this level of excitement in their relationship. She had seen enough marriages to know that the ardor of courtship cooled quickly into a sedentary fondness in many cases. She had hoped that she and Allister might someday share a deeper bond. That hope was doomed unless she could find something that would entice him to stay with her.
She was still mulling over the matter the next day when Allister called. Elegant in his navy coat and fawn trousers, he brought her a nosegay of hothouse violets, brushing a kiss against her neck as he bent to give them to her.
“Thank you,” she murmured, both for the flowers and the touch that filled her with longing.
“Oh, how lovely,” her mother enthused. “My Joanna is fortunate in her choice of husbands.”
Joanna was certain her smile was as strained as Allister’s as he bowed over her mother’s hand. She set the flowers into the lap of her lavender silk walking dress and tried to focus her attention on them.
“I’m the fortunate one, Lady Lindby,” he assured her mother.
