Swallowing the morsel of custard tart that had lodged in her throat, she dusted her hands and decided there was no point in torturing herself over the possible scenarios. Whether morning would bring redemption or disgrace, she would hold her head high. She had done her best, given the circumstances. That was all she could demand of herself.
If Lynsley wanted more, then so be it.
As she finished off the repast, Shannon was suddenly so weary that she could barely stand. Mrs. Hallaway returned to take her under her wing. “Come, my dear. I shall have you tucked away in a tick.”
Shannon allowed herself to be led down the corridor. Passing one of the closed doors, she caught the murmur of male voices. Hushed tones, redolent of brandy and smoke. She would have liked to linger for a moment, but her escort hurried their steps for the marble foyer.
“Just up these stairs and to the right. The sheets have been warmed, and the fire banked. Sleep well.”
Though she was dressed and ready to report for duty at dawn, the summons to appear downstairs did not come until midmorning.
“Ah, there you are.” Lynsley stood and motioned to a chair facing the massive pearwood desk. “Please make yourself comfortable.”
Shannon laid a sheaf of water-stained papers on the blotter before doing as she was bid. Seated half in shadow was a bearded gentleman, but as Lynsley made no move to introduce him, she acted as though he was not there. “I have written up a full report, sir. I’m sorry it is a bit worse for wear.”
“Hmmm.” Donning a pair of spectacles, the marquess scanned over the first few pages, then set them aside.
“I take it from your notes that there were… complications.” Even for the marquess, a man of unflappable demeanor, it was rather an understatement.
“Yes,” she replied, matching his laconic style.
The stranger stirred slightly and crossed his legs, revealing boots of buttery soft leather. It was not only their texture, but also their color—a burgundy red—that drew her eye. A peacock? An odd bird to be keeping company with a Merlin.
She skimmed her eyes over his bottle-green pantaloons and richly embroidered waistcoat. Patterned with an intricate design of swirling jewel tone colors, it was an even more glaring contrast to Lynsley’s austere shades of black and cream. However, as her gaze locked for an instant with that of the stranger, she saw the same penetrating alertness, the same cool calmness that gave the marquess an aura of command.
She quickly revised her assessment. Whoever he was, the stranger was not a man of preening pretensions.
“Hmmm,” repeated Lynsley. Confirming her guess, he handed the documents to his companion. “Perhaps you would care to have a look at these, Yuri.”
“Da.”
Shannon snapped to attention in her chair. The gruff syllable had sounded suspiciously like Russian.
Nyet, she assured herself. It was merely her mind playing tricks on her. Orlov was still plaguing her thoughts. To get her attention off her own inner demons, she cleared her throat and ventured to speak.
“I am sorry that I failed in my objective, sir. I studied the surroundings, did a reconnaissance of the castle, but did not learn until it was too late that the target had left the area.”
“D’Etienne escaped your bullet, but it appears that Seamus O’Malley did not,” mused the marquess.
She drew a deep breath. “Actually sir, it was not me who shot him. It was…”
She saw the stranger pause and look up from his reading.
“It was the Russian, Orlov.”
“Ah, so our friend was up to his old tricks,” said Lynsley.
“Yes, sir,” she said through clenched teeth, none too happy about the reminder that the rogue had once again upset her plans. “If—”
A loud clapping, punctuated by a hearty laugh, interrupted her explanation. “Bravo, I commend you on the unflinching honesty of your agents, Thomas. There are many who would have sought to take all the credit for eliminating an enemy like O’Malley.”
“I am not in the habit of exaggerating my exploits,” she muttered.
Lynsley covered a cough with his hand.
“I have also heard that Mr. Orlov saved the young lady’s life,” continued the stranger. “By nobly sacrificing his own person.”
Her cheeks flamed. “That is true, sir,” she said hotly. “But if the damn rascal hadn’t pocketed a very valuable gold snuffbox, all hell would not have broken loose. He had been spotted skulking through the castle hallways, and O’Malley came to search the library.”
The marquess arched a brow at his companion. “She does have a point. That was careless of Mr. Orlov.”
“And besides,” she added, “I repaid the favor.”
“Yes, yes,” murmured the stranger. “I have heard something along those lines. As for the other accusations…” A sly glint came to his gaze. “Perhaps we should let the man defend himself.”
Lynsley nodded. “Most certainly. Call him in.”
Bloody hell. Shannon had risen but now sat again rather quickly.
To his credit, when Orlov entered and saw her, he looked just as shell-shocked.
“Perhaps we ought to make formal introductions, to clear up any lingering confusion,” murmured the marquess. “Shannon, the gentleman on my left is Prince Yuri Yussapov, my counterpart in Russian Intelligence. And this…” he gestured at Orlov. “This man, with whom you are already acquainted, is one of his most experienced agents. A fact, I might add, that would have been helpful to know before now.”
The prince clicked his heels and bowed. “I have already tendered my humble apologies on that score, my lord.”
“For which I am extremely grateful, Yuri,” said Lynsley with a gracious nod. “In turn, allow me to present my agent Shannon to you. As for Mr. Orlov, I believe he needs no further introduction to either of us.”
Chapter Eight
Folding his arms across his chest, Orlov assumed an air of nonchalance, though he was seething inside. This dirty game they all played had few rules, but he did not appreciate being made to feel like Yussapov’s pawn in whatever cat-and-mouse game Russia was playing with England.
“What a pleasure to see you again, Lord Lynsley,” he drawled. “I regret not offering a more polite farewell at Marquand Castle, but I was in somewhat of a hurry.”
“Leaving a rather untidy mess behind you,” replied the marquess dryly.
His lip curled in a cool smile. “On the contrary, milord. I believe I tidied up quite nicely. If there were a few odd spills to mop up, well, I trusted that you had quite enough help on hand to finish the job.” Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Shannon’s face scrunch into a fearsome scowl. Her lips moved, but he couldn’t quite make out her words.
Which was probably all for the better. Lynsley flicked a warning glance her way, but his eyes betrayed a ripple of amusement.
“Let bygones be bygones, yes?” said Yussapov with an expansive wave. “However, before we continue, allow me to express my great pleasure on meeting one of the famed Merlin’s Maidens.” His jeweled ring flashed as he stroked his beard. As did his eyes. “Your reputation does not do you justice.”
Shannon replied with a stoic stare.
“Returning to the present problem,” said the prince. “We were just discussing the Irish mission, and the reasons for its having gone awry.”
“You are staring the problem in the face.” This time, Shannon’s comment was quite audible, earning her another silent rebuke from her superior.
Orlov countered with exaggerated politeness. “Much as I hate to contradict a lady, the mission had gone sour before either of us ventured onto O’Malley’s turf. D’Etienne was gone by the time we got there.”
“I don’t see how he could have been tipped off,” mused Yussapov. “I told no one my plans, save for you, Alexandr.” He cocked a glance at Lynsley, who slowly shook his head.
“I was equally discreet. The success of this mission was of grave importance to our government.”
“Hmmm.” The prince’s hand fell to fingering the double-headed eagle on his watch fob. “Sometimes chance flies in the face of the best-laid plans. It appears we were unlucky.”
“A fact exacerbated by Mr. Orlov’s penchant for petty theft,” muttered Shannon. “Sir,” she added, turning to address Lynsley. “If I may be allowed to say so, the exchange of gunfire with O’Malley—while resulting in the elimination of one enemy—was an unnecessary complication that may have alerted our true target that we were on his trail.”
Orlov caught the murderous look she cast his way.
“Indeed, I would venture to say we haven’t a snowball’s chance in hell of getting near him in Ireland again,” she finished.
Lynsley opened a dossier and thumbed through the papers. “My sources inform me that he has already left the country.” Pinching at the bridge of his nose, he asked, “Any comments, Yuri?”
“I shall let my man answer for himself.”
“Again, though it pains me to contradict a fellow operative, I did not purloin the snuffbox for mere personal gain. I was not as much interested in the bauble as in what lay inside it.”
“Hah!” Yussapov gave a bark of laughter. “You see, he had heard of O’Malley’s habit of hiding his orders from the French inside the treasure. I will pass over just how he coaxed such sensitive information from a member of the Irishman’s household, as it is irrelevant to the mission. But suffice it to say, the tip proved accurate.”
Orlov allowed something akin to a supercilious sneer to alter his expression. He did not normally gloat, but Shannon’s scorn had stung. For some reason, he wished to disabuse her of the notion that his highest pursuit was that of money. To be sure, he was a rogue, who saw no reason why he shouldn’t profit from the risks he took, if the opportunity was there for the taking. But he had never compromised a mission for mercenary motives.
“All in all, when you add up the score…” One by one, the prince ticked off the list with a jab of his well-tended finger. “The demolition of the French gold, the demise of O’Malley, the capture of the French document… I would say that my man came out on top.”
Steepling his hands, Lynsley smiled. “In the spirit of friendly competition, let us give Shannon a chance to reply.”
This time, Orlov noted that she didn’t so much as deign to glance his way.
“Mr. Orlov’s accomplishments, marvelous as they may be, would not have been quite so impressive if I had not managed to haul his unconscious hide, along with the hidden document, over the moors—at no small risk to my own person—and get him aboard a British naval cutter. Where the captain and I performed surgery to remove the bullet from his shoulder.”
“Better there than in your skull, would you not agree?” he retorted.
She had the grace to flush.
The prince chuckled. “You see how well they work together, Thomas. A formidable team, to be sure.”
“Hmmm.” Lynsley’s look was a trifle more skeptical. “They appear to get along like…”
Like fire and ice, thought Orlov to himself.
“Like steel and flint,” blurted out Shannon. “The sparks put the pyrotechnics of Vauxhall to blush.”
“Like cats and dogs,” finished the marquess. “But then, England’s arms feature a lion, while Russia is famous for its wolves.”
If a merlin had fangs, thought Orlov, they would likely be sunk in his throat. Reacting with his own flash of teeth in the lady’s direction, he tugged at his earring.
“Well said, my dear Thomas. As usual, you see right to the heart of things,” observed the prince. His grin of unholy amusement made Orlov wish to aim a kick at his well-tailored rump. “I give thanks to St. Georgi that we—and our fearless agents—are allied on the same side.”
Very little escaped Lynsley’s notice, agreed Orlov. Whether it was a blessing or a curse remained to be seen.
“St. George is a patron saint of our country as well, Yuri,” added the marquess. “So perhaps we can consider it a match made in heaven.”
Or hell. The exchange of civilized banter between the two titled gentlemen stirred the hairs on the nape of Orlov’s neck. “Yuri,” he growled. “If you have finished having your fun, I should like to finish briefing you about the rest of the mission, and its consequences. In private, if you please.”
“Ah, but you were the one who suggested we have no secrets from our ally, tvaritsch. This matter of D’Etienne is of vital concern to both the Tsar and the King. So Lord Lynsley and I have agreed to coordinate our efforts to eliminate the threat.”
Orlov felt the prickling sensation turn into a stab of dire foreboding.
“Between our informants and the secret orders you so cleverly captured from O’Malley, we are quite certain that the Frenchman is on his way to Scotland,” continued the prince. “While he was lucky in escaping our pursuit in Ireland, it seems that Fortune may have finally turned her smile on us.”
His mouth stretched a bit wider. “We believe we may have a way of getting to him. But the operatives will need to be masters of cunning and deception. Not to mention deadly force. Seeing as our two best agents have already shown an ability to work together, we see no reason to alter the arrangement.”
“No reason?” repeated Orlov softly. For a moment he thought his superior might be indulging in his peculiar sense of humor. But a look at Yussapov’s face showed he was deadly serious. “I shall be happy to write you a list of reasons—in both English and Russian so there is no misunderstanding,” he replied. “Assuming, of course, that Lord Lynsley has a ream of foolscap at his disposal.”
“For once I agree with Mr. Orlov.” Shannon was quick to second his objection. “It won’t work.”
“Why?” asked Lynsley mildly.
“Er…” She looked uncertain. “I…”
“I work alone,” finished Orlov. “And that’s flat.”
Yussapov tilted back in his chair and looked up at the painted ceiling, appearing for all the world as if the trompe’l‘oeil cherubs cavorting across the celestial blue were his only interest.
Orlov muttered something in Russian that brought the legs back to earth with a thump.
“Now, now, Alexandr, let us not be hasty,” soothed the prince.
“Us?” he said with poisonous politeness. “It is my hide that is at risk.”
Ignoring the interplay between the other men, Lynsley turned to Shannon. “As I have said, D’Etienne is a grave threat to both England and Russia. But I would never ask you to undertake a mission against your will. If, for personal reasons, you feel that you cannot perform what is required of you, I shall of course accede to your feelings. One of the other Merlins—”
“No, sir!”
Orlov saw her chin rise, its angle sharp as a sword thrust. Damn. The marquess had skillfully maneuvered her into a position of no retreat.
“I am ready to ride from here to Hades, if that is what is needed, sir. Alone or in whatever company you so order.” Her voice, while it carried conviction, was decidedly lacking in enthusiasm.
“Perhaps if I explain the circumstances, it will help,” continued the marquess with the same mild manner. He might have been ordering port and cigars at White’s rather than the covert assassination of a dangerous enemy. “Angus McAllister is a scientific wizard in the art of munitions. His innovations in artillery design and ballistics could help swing the balance of power to our side in the upcoming Eastern campaign.”
Yussapov began to drum a martial tattoo upon the tabletop.
“However, he is not only a scientist, but also a devoted family man,” continued the marquess. “And serves as guardian to his orphaned niece and nephew—a responsibility that is dear to his heart. At our government’s urgent behest, he has reluctantly left them in the care of the children’s grandmother, an elderly widow living in a remote corner of the Highlands, in order to work with our military experts on cannon design.”
Orlov saw Shannon flinch at the mention of the orphaned
children. “You need not explain the reasons, sir,” she interrupted. “I take your word that the mission is a vital one.”
“In this case, I believe it imperative that both of you understand the full import of what is at stake. You see, we believe D’Etienne’s next target is… but I am getting a step ahead of myself.”
“Da,” said Yussapov. “Let us back up and explain just what it is that we have in mind.”
Orlov had a sinking feeling that he knew where this was going.
“Imagine, a frail old babushka and two young children at an isolated estate.” Indulging in the Russian flair for storytelling, Yussapov was quick to warm to the subject. “Alone, save for the wolves and hawks that hunt in the surrounding hills.”
“There are no wolves in Scotland, Yuri,” muttered Orlov.
The prince ignored him. “An easy target for anyone, much less a trained assassin.”
Shannon let out a gasp of disbelief. “You don’t mean to say that he intends to murder the children?”
“Attack what they love first—it is one of Sun-Tzu’s precepts for defeating an adversary,” said Lynsley softly. “War is, by its very nature, ugly and immoral, Shannon. Our enemy will strike where he believes it will hurt the most. Angus McAllister would be devastated if his wards came to harm. And who could blame him if he held us as responsible as the French for his loss?”
She paled but Orlov saw her eyes turn the color of windswept granite. A hard, unyielding shade of green-gray.
“We believe that D’Etienne will first seek to take the children as hostages,” explained the marquess. “In some ways, they are more valuable to the French alive than dead. But if the opportunity does not present itself, he will not hesitate to kill them.”
“What is your plan?” It was clear that she had surrendered any reluctance to the mission.
“To dispatch you and Mr. Orlov to Dornoch. It will seem natural enough that McAllister would engage a governess and tutor for the children during his absence. Such an arrangement works to our advantage. You will be in a perfect position not only to guard the McKenzie children, but also to ensure that this mission is D’Etienne’s last.”
Seduced by a Spy Page 8
